DESERT  GOLD 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  BORDER 
By 

ZANE  GREY 


AUTHOR  OF 

RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE. 
WILDFIRE,  Etc.,  Etc. 


GROSSET   8?    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  : :  NEW  YORK 


Published  by  Arrangement  with  Harper  &  Brothers 

Made  in  the  United  States  of  Americ" 


Si' 


Copyright,  1913.  by  Harper  &  Brofsr* 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 
Published  April,  1913 


H-A 


CONTENTS 


PROLOGUE     ............        .    .    0  j 

I.  OLD  FRIENDS  ..............    .  23 

II.  MERCEDES  CASTANEDA  ...........    .  34 

III.  A  FLIGHT  INTO  THE  DESERT    .....    .    .    .    .  47 

IV.  FORLORN  RIVER    .............    .  61 

V.  A  DESERT  ROSE   ..............  81 

VI.  THE  YAQUI    ...............  96 

VII.  WHITE  HORSES    ..............  114 

VIII.  THE  RUNNING  OF  BLANCO  SOL    ........  130 

IX.  AN  INTERRUPTED  SIESTA      .........    .  145 

X.  ROJAS     .................  153 

XI.  ACROSS  CACTUS  AND  LAVA    ..........  180 

XII.  THE  CRATER  OF  HELL    ...........  200 

XIII.  CHANGES  AT  FORLORN  RIVER    .........  224 

XIV.  A  LOST  SON    ...............  233 

XV.  BOUND  IN  THE  DESERT    ...........  247 

XVI.  MOUNTAIN  SHEEP    .............  263 

XVII.  THE  WHISTLE  OF  A  HORSE  ..........  282 

XVIII.  REALITY  AGAINST  DREAMS  ..........  297 

XIX.  THE  SECRET  OF  FORLORN  RIVER    ........  314 

XX.  DESERT  GOLD   ..............    c  323 


DESERT   GOLD 


PROLOGUE 
I 

A  FACE  haunted  Cameron — a  woman's  face.  It  was 
there  in  the  white  heart  of  the  dying  campfire;  it 
hung  in  the  shadows  that  hovered  over  the  flickering 
light;  it  drifted  in  the  darkness  beyond. 

This  hour,  when  the  day  had  closed  and  the  lonely 
desert  night  set  in  with  its  dead  silence,  was  one  in  which 
Cameron's  mind  was  thronged  with  memories  of  a  time 
long  past — of  a  home  back  in  Peoria,  of  a  woman  he  had 
wronged  and  lost,  and  loved  too  late.  He  was  a  pros 
pector  for  gold,  a  hunter  of  solitude,  a  lover  of  the  drear, 
rock-ribbed  infinitude,  because  he  wanted  to  be  alone  to 
remember. 

A  sound  disturbed  Cameron's  reflections.  He  bent  his 
head,  listening.  A  soft  wind  fanned  the  paling  embers, 
blew  sparks  and  white  ashes  and  thin  smoke  away  into 
the  enshrouding  circle  of  blackness.  His  burro  did  not 
appear  to  be  moving  about.  The  quiet  split  to  the  cry 
of  a  coyote.  It  rose  strange,  wild,  mournful — not  the 
howl  of  a  prowling  upland  beast  baying  the  campfire  or 
barking  at  a  lonely  prospector,  but  the  wail  of  a  wolf, 
full-voiced,  crying  out  the  meaning  of  the  desert  and  the 
night.  Hunger  throbbed  in  it — hunger  for  a  mate,  for 
offspring,  for  life.  When  it  ceased,  the  terrible  desert 


DESERT    GOLD 


silence  smote  Cameron,  and  the  cry  echoed  in  his  soul. 
He  and  that  wandering  wolf  were  brothers. 

Then  a  sharp  clink  of  metal  on  stone  and  soft  pads  of 
hoofs  in  sand  prompted  Cameron  to  reach  for  his  gun, 
and  to  move  out  of  the  light  of  waning  campfire.  He 
was  somewhere  along  the  wild  border  line  between  So- 
nora  and  Arizona ;  and  the  prospector  who  dared  the  heat 
and  barrenness  of  that  region  risked  other  dangers  some 
times  as  menacing. 

Figures  darker  than  the  gloom  approached  and  took 
shape,  and  in  the  light  turned  out  to  be  those  of  a  white 
man  and  a  heavily  packed  burro. 

"Hello  there,"  the  man  called,  as  he  came  to  a  halt 
and  gazed  about  him.  "I  saw  your  fire.  May  I  make 
camp  here  ?" 

Cameron  came  forth  out  of  the  shadow  and  greeted 
his  visitor,  whom  he  took  for  a  prospector  like  himself. 
Cameron  resented  the  breaking  of  his  lonely  campfire 
vigil,  but  he  respected  the  law  of  the  desert. 

The  stranger  thanked  him,  and  then  slipped  the  pack 
from  his  burro.  Then  he  rolled  out  his  pack  and  began 
preparations  for  a  meal.  His  movements  were  slow  and 
methodical. 

Cameron  watched  him,  still  with  resentment,  yet  with 
a  curious  and  growing  interest.  The  campfire  burst  into 
a  bright  blaze,  and  by  its  light  Cameron  saw  a  man 
whose  gray  hair  somehow  did  not  seem  to  make  him  old, 
and  whose  stooped  shoulders  did  not  detract  from  an 
impression  of  rugged  strength. 

"Find  any  mineral  ?"  asked  Cameron,  presently. 

His  visitor  looked  up  quickly,  as  if  startled  by  the 
sound  of  a  human  voice.  He  replied,  and  then  the  two 
men  talked  a  little.  But  the  stranger  evidently  preferred 
silence.  Cameron  understood  that.  He  laughed  grimly 
and  bent  a  keener  gaze  upon  the  furrowed,  shadowy  face. 
Another  of  those  strange  desert  prospectors  in  whom  there 
was  some  relentless  driving  power  besides  the  lust  for 


PROLOGUE 

gold!  Cameron  felt  that  between  this  man  and  himself 
there  was  a  subtle  affinity,  vague  and  undefined,  perhaps 
born  of  the  divination  that  here  was  a  desert  wanderer 
like  himself,  perhaps  born  of  a  deeper,  an  unintelligible 
relation  having  its  roots  back  in  the  past.  A  long- 
forgotten  sensation  stirred  in  Cameron's  breast,  one  so 
long  forgotten  that  he  could  not  recognize  it.  But  it  was 
akin  to  pain. 


II 


When  he  awakened  he  found,  to  his  surprise,  that 
his  companion  had  departed.  A  trail  in  the  sand  led 
off  to  the  north.  There  was  no  water  in  that  direction. 
Cameron  shrugged  his  shoulders;  it  was  not  his  affair; 
he  had  his  own  problems.  And  straightway  he  forgot 
his  strange  visitor. 

Cameron  began  his  day,  grateful  for  the  solitude  that 
was  now  unbroken,  for  the  canon-furrowed  and  cactus- 
spired  scene  that  now  showed  no  sign  of  life.  He  trav 
eled  southwest,  never  straying  far  from  the  dry  stream 
bed ;  and  in  a  desultory  way,  without  eagerness,  he  hunted 
for  signs  of  gold. 

The  work  was  toilsome,  yet  the  periods  of  rest  in  which 
he  indulged  were  not  taken  because  of  fatigue.  He 
rested  to  look,  to  listen,  to  feel.  What  the  vast  silent 
world  meant  to  him  had  always  been  a  mystical  thing, 
•which  he  felt  in  all  its  incalculable  power,  but  never 
understood. 

That  day,  while  it  was  yet  light,  and  he  was  digging  in 
a  moist  white-bordered  wash  for  water,  he  was  brought 
sharply  up  by  hearing  the  crack  of  hard  hoofs  on  stone. 
There  down  the  canon  came  a  man  and  a  burro.  Cameron 
recognized  them. 

"Hello,  friend,"  called  the  man,  halting.  "Our  trails 
crossed  again.  That's  good." 


DESERT    GOLD 

"Hello,"  replied  Cameron,  slowly.  "Any  mineral  sign 
>o-day?" 

"No." 

They  made  camp  together,  ate  their  frugal  meal, 
smoked  a  pipe,  and  rolled  in  their  blankets  without  ex 
changing  many  words.  In  the  morning  the  same  reti 
cence,  the  same  aloofness  characterized  the  manner  of 
both.  But  Cameron's  companion,  when  he  had  packed 
his  burro  and  was  ready  to  start,  faced  about  and  said: 
"We  might  stay  together,  if  it's  all  right  with  you." 

"I  never  take  a  partner,"  replied  Cameron. 

"You're  alone;  I'm  alone,"  said  the  other,  mildly. 
"It's  a  big  place.  If  we  find  gold  there'll  be  enough  for 
two." 

"I  don't  go  down  into  the  desert  for  gold  alone,"  re 
joined  Cameron,  with  a  chill  note  in  his  swift  reply. 

His  companion's  deep-set,  luminous  eyes  emitted  a 
singular  flash.  It  moved  Cameron  to  say  that  in  the 
years  of  his  wandering  he  had  met  no  man  who  could 
endure  equally  with  him  the  blasting  heat,  the  blinding 
dust  storms,  the  wilderness  of  sand  and  rock  and  lava 
and  cactus,  the  terrible  silence  and  desolation  of  the 
desert.  Cameron  waved  a  hand  toward  the  wide,  shim 
mering,  shadowy  descent  of  plain  and  range.  "I  may 
strike  through  the  Sonora  Desert.  I  may  head  for  Pin- 
acate  or  north  for  the  Colorado  Basin.  You  are  an  old 
man." 

"I  don't  know  the  country,  but  to  me  one  place  is  the 
same  as  another,"  replied  his  companion.  For  moments 
he  seemed  to  forget  himself,  and  swept  his  far-reaching 
gaze  out  over  the  colored  gulf  of  stone  and  sand.  Then 
with  gentle  slaps  he  drove  his  burro  in  behind  Cameron. 
"Yes,  I'm  old.  I'm  lonely,  too.  It's  come  to  me  just 
lately.  But,  friend,  I  can  still  travel,  and  for  a  few  days 
my  company  won't  hurt  you." 

"Have  it  your  way,"  said  Cameron. 

They  began  a  slow  march  down  into  the  desert.     At 

4 


PROLOGUE 

sunset  they  camped  under  the  lee  of  a  low  mesa.  Cam 
eron  was  glad  his  comrade  had  the  Indian  habit  of  silence, 
Another  day's  travel  found  the  prospectors  deep  in  the 
wilderness.  Then  there  came  a  breaking  of  reserve, 
noticeable  in  the  elder  man,  almost  imperceptibly  gradual 
in  Cameron.  Besides  the  meager  mesquite  campfire 
this  gray-faced,  thoughtful  old  prospector  would  remove 
his  black  pipe  from  his  mouth  to  talk  a  little ;  and  Cam 
eron  would  listen,  and  sometimes  unlock  his  lips  to  speak 
a  word.  And  so,  as  Cameron  began  to  respond  to  the 
influence  of  a  desert  less  lonely  than  habitual,  he  began 
to  take  keener  note  of  his  comrade,  and  found  him  differ 
ent  from  any  other  he  had  ever  encountered  in  the  wik 
derness.  This  man  never  grumbled  at  the  heat,  the  glare, 
the  driving  sand,  the  sour  water,  the  scant  fare.  During 
the  daylight  hours  he  was  seldom  idle.  At  night  he  sat 
dreaming  before  the  fire  or  paced  to  and  fro  in  the  gloom. 
He  slept  but  little,  and  that  long  after  Cameron  had  had 
his  own  rest.  He  was  tireless,  patient,  brooding. 

Cameron's  awakened  interest  brought  home  to  him  the 
realization  that  for  years  he  had  shunned  companion 
ship.  In  those  years  only  three  men  had  wandered  into 
the  desert  with  him,  and  these  had  left  their  bones  to 
bleach  in  the  shifting  sands.  Cameron  had  not  cared  to 
know  their  secrets.  But  the  more  he  studied  this  latest 
comrade  the  more  he  began  to  suspect  that  he  might  have 
missed  something  in  the  others.  In  his  own  driving  pas 
sion  to  take  his  secret  into  the  limitless  abode  of  silence 
and  desolation,  where  he  could  be  alone  with  it,  he  had 
forgotten  that  life  dealt  shocks  to  other  men.  Somehow 
this  silent  comrade  reminded  him. 

One  afternoon  late,  after  they  had  toiled  up  a  white, 
winding  wash  of  sand  and  gravel,  they  came  upon  a  dry 
waterhole.  Cameron  dug  deep  into  the  sand,  but  with 
out  avail.  He  was  turning  to  retrace  weary  steps  back 
to  the  last  water  when  his  comrade  asked  him  to  wait. 
Cameron  watched  him  search  in  his  pack  and  bring  forth 


DESERT   GOLD 

what  appeared  to  be  a  small,  forked  branch  of  a  peach 
tree.  He  grasped  the  prongs  of  the  fork  and  held  them 
before  him  with  the  end  standing  straight  out,  and  then 
he  began  to  walk  along  the  stream  bed.  Cameron,  at 
first  amused,  then  amazed,  then  pitying  and  at  last 
curious,  kept  pace  with  the  prospector.  He  saw  a  strong 
tension  of  his  comrade's  wrists,  as  if  he  was  holding  hard 
against  a  considerable  force.  The  end  of  the  peach 
branch  began  to  quiver  and  turn.  Cameron  reached  out 
a  hand  to  touch  it,  and  was  astounded  at  feeling  a  power 
ful  vibrant  force  pulling  the  branch  downward.  He  felt 
it  as  a  magnetic  shock.  The  branch  kept  turning,  and 
at  length  pointed  to  the  ground. 

"Dig  here,"  said  the  prospector. 

"What!"  ejaculated  Cameron.  Had  the  man  lost  his 
mind? 

Then  Cameron  stood  by  while  his  comrade  dug  in  the 
sand.  Three  feet  he  dug — four — five,  and  the  sand  grew 
dark,  then  moist.  At  six  feet  water  began  to  seep  through. 

"Get  the  little  basket  in  my  pack,"  he  said. 

Cameron  complied,  and  saw  his  comrade  drop  the 
basket  into  the  deep  hole,  where  it  kept  the  sides  from 
caving  in  and  allowed  the  water  to  seep  through.  While 
Cameron  watched,  the  basket  filled.  Of  all  the  strange 
incidents  of  his  desert  career  this  was  the  strangest. 
Curiously  he  picked  up  the  peach  branch  and  held  it  as 
he  had  seen  it  held.  The  thing,  however,  was  dead  in 
his  hands. 

"I  see  you  haven't  got  it,"  remarked  his  comrade. 
"Few  men  have." 

"Got   what?"   demanded  Cameron. 

"A  power  to  find  water  that  way.  Back  in  Illinois  an 
old  German  used  to  do  that  to  locate  wells.  He  showed 
me  I  had  the  same  power.  I  can't  explain.  But  you 
needn't  look  so  dumfounded.  There's  nothing  super 
natural  about  it." 

"You  mean  it's  a  simple  fact — that  some  men  have  a 

6 


PROLOGUE 

magnetism,  a  force  or  power  to  find  water  as  you 
did?'5 

"Yes.  It's  not  unusual  on  the  farms  back  in  Illinois, 
Ohio,  Pennsylvania.  The  old  German  I  spoke  of  made 
money  traveling  round  with  his  peach  fork." 

"What  a  gift  for  a  man  in  the  desert !" 

Cameron's  comrade  smiled — the  second  time  in  all 
those  days. 

They  entered  a  region  where  mineral  abounded,  and 
their  march  became  slower.  Generally  they  took  the 
course  of  a  wash,  one  on  each  side,  and  let  the  burros 
travel  leisurely  along  nipping  at  the  bleached  blades  of 
scant  grass,  or  at  sage  or  cactus,  while  they  searched  in 
the  canons  and  under  the  ledges  for  signs  of  gold.  When 
they  found  any  rock  that  hinted  of  gold  they  picked  off  a 
piece  and  gave  it  a  chemical  test.  The  search  was  fas 
cinating.  They  interspersed  the  work  with  long,  restful 
moments  when  they  looked  afar  down  the  vast  reaches 
and  smoky  shingles  to  the  line  of  dim  mountains.  Some 
impelling  desire,  not  all  the  lure  of  gold,  took  them  to  the 
top  of  mesas  and  escarpments ;  and  here,  when  they  had 
dug  and  picked,  they  rested  and  gazed  out  at  the  wide 
prospect.  Then,  as  the  sun  lost  its  heat  and  sank  lower 
ing  to  dent  its  red  disk  behind  far-distant  spurs,  they 
halted  in  a  shady  canon  or  likely  spot  in  a  dry  wash  and 
tried  for  water.  When  they  found  it  they  unpacked,  gave 
drink  to  the  tired  burros,  and  turned  them  loose.  Dead 
mesquite  served  for  the  campfire.  While  the  strange  twi 
light  deepened  into  weird  night  they  sat  propped  against 
stones,  with  eyes  on  the  dying  embers  of  the  fire,  and 
soon  they  lay  on  the  sand  with  the  light  of  white  stars  on 
their  dark  faces. 

Each  succeeding  day  and  night  Cameron  felt  himself 
more  and  more  drawn  to  this  strange  man.  He  found 
that  after  hours  of  burning  toil  he  had  insensibly  grown 
nearer  to  his  comrade.  He  reflected  that  after  a  few 
weeks  in  the  desert  he  had  always.become  a  different  man. 


DESERT    GOLD 

In  civilization,  in  the  rough  mining  camps,  he  had  oeen  a 
prey  to  unrest  and  gloom.  But  once  down  on  the  great 
billowing  sweep  of  this  lonely  world,  he  could  look  into 
his  unquiet  soul  without  bitterness.  Did  not  the  desert 
magnify  men?  Cameron  believed  that  wild  men  in  wild 
places,  fighting  cold,  heat,  starvation,  thirst,  barrenness, 
facing  the  elements  in  all  their  ferocity,  usually  retro 
graded,  descended  to  the  savage,  lost  all  heart  and  soul 
and  became  mere  brutes.  Likewise  he  believed  that  men 
wandering  or  lost  in  the  wilderness  often  reversed  that 
brutal  order  of  life  and  became  noble,  wonderful,  super 
human.  So  now  he  did  not  marvel  at  a  slow  stir  stealing 
warmer  along  his  veins,  and  at  the  premonition  that  per 
haps  he  and  this  man,  alone  on  the  desert,  driven  there 
by  life's  mysterious  and  remorseless  motive,  were  to  see 
each  other  through  God's  eyes. 

His  companion  was  one  who  thought  of  himself  last. 
It  humiliated  Cameron  that  in  spite  of  growing  keenness 
he  could  not  hinder  him  from  doing  more  than  an  equal 
share  of  the  day's  work.  The  man  was  mild,  gentle, 
quiet,  mostly  silent,  yet  under  all  his  softness  he  seemed 
to  be  made  of  the  fiber  of  steel.  Cameron  could  not 
thwart  him.  Moreover,  he  appeared  to  want  to  find  gold 
for  Cameron,  not  for  himself.  Cameron's  hands  always 
trembled  at  the  turning  of  rock  that  promised  gold;  he 
had  enough  of  the  prospector's  passion  for  fortune  to 
thrill  at  the  chance  of  a  strike.  But  the  other  never 
showed  the  least  trace  of  excitement. 

CHe  night  they  were  encamped  at  the  head  of  a  canon. 
The  day  had  been  exceedingly  hot,  and  long  after  sundown 
the  radiation  of  heat  from  the  rocks  persisted.  A  desert 
bird  whistled  a  wild,  melancholy  note  from  a  dark  cliff, 
and  a  distant  coyote  wailed  mournfully.  The  stars  shone 
white  until  the  huge  moon  rose  to  burn  out  all  their 
whiteness.  And  on  this  night  Cameron  watched  his 
comrade,  and  yielded  to  interest  he  had  not  heretofore 
voiced. 

8 


PROLOGUE 

Tardner,  what  drives  you  into  the  desert?" 

"Do  I  seem  to  be  a  driven  man?" 

"No.    But  I  feel  it.    Do  you  come  to  forget  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Ah!"  softly  exclaimed  Cameron.  Always  he  seemed 
to  have  known  that.  He  said  no  more.  He  watched  the 
old  man  rise  and  begin  his  nightly  pace  to  and  fro,  up  and 
down.  With  slow,  soft  tread,  forward  and  back,  tirelessly 
and  ceaselessly,  he  paced  that  beat.  He  did  not  look  up 
at  the  stars  or  follow  the  radiant  track  of  the  moon  along 
the  canon  ramparts.  He  hung  his  head.  He  was  lost 
in  another  world.  It  was  a  world  which  the  lonely  desert 
made  real.  He  looked  a  dark,  sad,  plodding  figure,  and 
somehow  impressed  Cameron  with  the  helplessness  of 
men. 

Cameron  grew  acutely  conscious  of  the  pang  in  his  own 
breast,  of  the  fire  in  his  heart,  the  strife  and  torment  of 
his  passion-driven  soul.  He  had  come  into  the  desert  to 
remember  a  woman.  She  appeared  to  him  then  as  she 
had  looked  when  first  she  entered  his  life — a  golden-haired 
girl,  blue-eyed,  white-skinned,  red-lipped,  tall  and  slender 
and  beautiful.  He  had  never  forgotten,  and  an  old,  sick 
ening  remorse  knocked  at  his  heart.  He  rose  and  climbed 
out  of  the  canon  and  to  the  top  of  a  mesa,  where  he  paced 
to  and  fro  and  looked  down  into  the  weird  and  mystic 
shadows,  like  the  darkness  of  his  passion,  and  farther  on 
down  the  moon  track  and  the  glittering  stretches  that 
vanished  in  the  cold,  blue  horizon.  The  moon  soared 
radiant  and  calm,  the  white  stars  shone  serene.  The 
vault  of  heaven  seemed  illimitable  and  divine.  The  desert 
surrounded  him,  silver-streaked  and  black-mantled,  a 
chaos  of  rock  and  sand,  silent,  austere,  ancient,  always 
waiting.  It  spoke  to  Cameron.  It  was  a  naked  corpse,  but 
it  had  a  soul.  In  that  wild  solitude  the  white  stars  looked 
down  upon  him  pitilessly  and  pityingly.  They  had  shone 
upon  a  desert  that  might  once  have  been  alive  and  was 
now  dead,  and  might  again  throb  with  life,  onlv  to  die. 


DESERT    GOLD 

It  was  a  terrible  ordeal  for  him  to  stand  there  alone  and 
realize  that  he  was  only  a  man  facing  eternity.  But  that 
was  what  gave  him  strength  to  endure.  Somehow  he  was 
a  part  of  it  all,  some  atom  in  that  vastness,  somehow 
necessary  to  an  inscrutable  purpose,  something  inde 
structible  in  that  desolate  world  of  ruin  and  death  and 
decay,  something  perishable  and  changeable  and  growing 
under  all  the  fixity  of  heaven.  In  that  endless,  silent  hall 
of  desert  there  was  a  spirit ;  and  Cameron  felt  hovering 
near  him  what  he  imagined  to  be  phantoms  of  peace. 

He  returned  to  camp  and  sought  his  comrade. 

"I  reckon  we're  two  of  a  kind,"  he  said.  "It  was  a 
woman  who  drove  me  into  the  desert.  But  I  come  to 
remember.  The  desert's  the  only  place  I  can  do  that." 

"Was  she  your  wife?"  asked  the  elder  man. 

"No." 

A  long  silence  ensued.  A  cool  wind  blew  up  the  canon 
sifting  the  sand  through  the  dry  sage,  driving  away  the 
last  of  the  lingering  heat.  The  campfire  wore  down  to  a 
ruddy  ashen  heap. 

"I  had  a  daughter,"  said  Cameron's  comrade.  "She 
lost  her  mother  at  birth.  And  I — I  didn't  know  how  to 
bring  up  a  girl.  She  was  pretty  and  gay.  It  was  the — 
the  old  story." 

His  words  were  peculiarly  significant  to  Cameron. 
They  distressed  him.  He  had  been  wrapped  up  in  his 
remorse.  If  ever  in  the  past  he  had  thought  of  any  one 
connected  with  the  girl  he  had  wronged  he  had  long  for 
gotten.  But  the  consequences  of  such  wrong  were  far- 
reaching.  They  struck  at  the  roots  of  a  home.  Here  in 
the  desert  he  was  confronted  by  the  spectacle  of  a  splendid 
man,  a  father,  wasting  his  life  because  he  could  not  for 
get — because  there  was  nothing  left  to  live  for.  Cameron 
understood  better  now  why  his  comrade  was  drawn  by  the 
desert. 

"Well,  tell  me  more?"  asked  Cameron,  earnestly. 

"It  was  the  old,  old  story.  My  girl  was  pretty  and 

10 


PROLOGUE 

free.  The  young  bucks  ran  after  her.  I  guess  she  did 
not  run  away  from  them.  And  I  was  away  a  good  deal — 
working  in  another  town.  She  was  in  love  with  a  wild 
fellow.  I  knew  nothing  of  it  till  too  late.  He  was  en 
gaged  to  marry  her.  But  he  didn't  come  back.  And 
when  the  disgrace  became  plain  to  all,  my  girl  left  home. 
She  went  West.  After  a  while  I  heard  from  her.  She 
was  well — working — living  for  her  baby.  A  long  time 
passed.  I  had  no  ties.  I  drifted  West.  Her  lover  had 
also  gone  West.  In  those  days  everybody  went  West.  I 
trailed  him,  intending  to  kill  him.  But  I  lost  his  trail. 
Neither  could  I  find  any  trace  of  her.  She  had  moved 
on,  driven,  no  doubt,  by  the  hound  of  her  past.  Since 
then  I  have  taken  to  the  wilds,  hunting  gold  on  the  desert." 

"Yes,  it's  the  old,  old  story,  only  sadder,  I  think,"  said 
Cameron;  and  his  voice  was  strained  and  unnatural. 
"Pardner,  what  Illinois  town  was  it  you  hailed  from?" 

"Peoria." 

"And  your — your  name?"  went  on  Cameron,  husk.ly. 

"Warren— Jonas  Warren." 

That  name  might  as  well  have  been  a  bullet.  Cameron 
stood  erect,  motionless,  as  men  sometimes  stand  mo 
mentarily  when  shot  straight  through  the  heart.  In  an 
instant,  when  thoughts  resurged  like  blinding  flashes  of 
lightning  through  his  mind,  he  was  a  swaying,  quivering, 
terror-stricken  man.  He  mumbled  something  hoarsely 
and  backed  into  the  shadow.  But  he  needed  not  have 
feared  discovery,  however  surely  his  agitation  might  have 
betrayed  him.  Warren  sat  brooding  over  the  campfire, 
oblivious  of  his  comrade,  absorbed  in  the  past. 

Cameron  swiftly  walked  away  in  the  gloom,  with  the 
blood  thrumming  thick  in  his  ears,  whispering  over  and 
over: 

"Merciful  God !  Nell  was  his  daughter !" 

Ill 

As  thought  and  feeling  multiplied,  Cameron  was  over- 

II 


DESERT    GOLD 

whelmed.  Beyond  belief,  indeed,  was  it  that  out  of 
the  millions  of  men  in  the  world  two  who  had  never 
seen  each  other  could  have  been  driven  into  the  desert  by 
memory  of  the  same  woman.  It  brought  the  past  so 
close.  It  showed  Cameron  how  inevitably  all  his  spiritual 
life  was  governed  by  what  had  happened  long  ago.  That 
which  made  life  significant  to  him  was  a  wandering  in 
silent  places  where  no  eye  could  see  him  with  his  secret. 
Some  fateful  chance  had  thrown  him  with  the  father  of 
the  girl  he  had  wrecked.  It  was  incomprehensible;  it 
was  terrible.  It  was  the  one  thing  of  all  possible  happen 
ings  in  the  world  of  chance  that  both  father  and  lover 
would  have  found  unendurable. 

Cameron's  pain  reached  to  despair  when  he  felt  this 
relation  between  Warren  and  himself.  Something  within 
him  cried  out  to  him  to  reveal  his  identity.  Warren  would 
kill  him;  but  it  was  not  fear  of  death  that  put  Cameron 
on  the  rack.  He  had  faced  death  too  often  to  be  afraid. 
It  was  the  thought  of  adding  torture  to  this  long-suffering 
man.  All  at  once  Cameron  swore  that  he  would  not  aug 
ment  Warren's  trouble,  or  let  him  stain  his  hands  with 
blood.  He  would  tell  the  truth  of  Nell's  sad  story  and 
his  own,  and  make  what  amends  he  could. 

Then  Cameron's  thought  shifted  from  father  to  daugh 
ter.  She  was  somewhere  beyond  the  dim  horizon  line.  In 
those  past  lonely  hours  by  the  campfire  his  fancy  had  tor 
tured  him  with  pictures  of  Nell.  But  his  remorseful  and 
cruel  fancy  had  lied  to  him.  Nell  had  struggled  upward 
out  of  menacing  depths.  She  had  reconstructed  a  broken 
life.  And  now  she  was  fighting  for  the  name  and  happi 
ness  of  her  child.  Little  Nell!  Cameron  experienced  a 
shuddering  ripple  in  all  his  being — the  physical  rack  of  an 
emotion  born  of  a  new  and  strange  consciousness. 

As  Cameron  gazed  out  over  the  blood-red,  darkening 
desert  suddenly  the  strife  in  his  soul  ceased.  The  moment 
was  one  of  incalculable  change,  in  which  his  eyes  seemed 

12 


PROLOGUE 

to  pierce  the  vastness  of  cloud  and  range,  and  mystery 
of  gloom  and  shadow — to  see  with  strong  vision  the 
illimitable  space  before  him.  He  felt  the  grandeur  of  the 
desert,  its  simplicity,  its  truth.  He  had  learned  at  last 
the  lesson  it  taught.  No  longer  strange  was  his  meeting 
and  wandering  with  Warren.  Each  had  marched  in  the 
steps  of  destiny ;  and  as  the  lines  of  their  fates  had  been 
inextricably  tangled  in  the  years  that  were  gone,  so  now 
their  steps  had  crossed  and  turned  them  toward  one  com 
mon  goal.  For  years  they  had  been  two  men  marching 
alone,  answering  to  an  inward  driving  search,  and  the 
desert  had  brought  them  together.  For  years  they  had 
wandered  alone  in  silence  and  solitude,  where  the  sun 
burned  white  all  day  and  the  stars  burned  white  all  night, 
blindly  following  the  whisper  of  a  spirit.  But  now  Cam 
eron  knew  that  he  was  no  longer  blind,  and  in  this  flash 
of  revelation  he  felt  that  it  had  been  given  him  to  help 
Warren  with  his  burden. 

He  returned  to  camp  trying  to  evolve  a  plan.  As 
always  at  that  long  hour  when  the  afterglow  of  sunset 
lingered  in  the  west,  Warren  plodded  to  and  fro  in  the 
gloom.  All  night  Camepon  lay  awake  thinking. 

In  the  morning,  when  Warren  brought  the  burros  to 
camp  and  began  preparations  for  the  usual  packing, 
Cameron  broke  silence. 

"Pardner,  your  story  last  night  made  me  think.  I 
want  to  tell  you  something  about  myself.  It's  hard 
enough  to  be  driven  by  sorrow  for  some  one  you've  loved, 
as  you've  been  driven ;  but  to  suffer  sleepless  and  eternal 
remorse  for  the  ruin  of  one  you've  loved  as  I  have  suffered 
— that  is  hell. . . .  Listen.  In  my  younger  days — it  seems 
long  now,  yet  it's  not  so  many  years — I  was  wild.  I 
wronged  the  sweetest  and  loveliest  girl  I  ever  knew.  I 
went  away  not  dreaming  that  any  disgrace  might  come 
to  her.  Along  about  that  time  I  fell  into  terrible  moods 
— I  changed — I  learned  I  really  loved  her.  Then  came  a 
letter  I  should  have  gotten  months  before.  It  told  of  her 

13 


DESERT   GOLD 

trouble — importuned  me  to  hurry  to  save  her.  Half 
frantic  with  shame  and  fear,  I  got  a  marriage  certificate 
and  rushed  back  to  her  town.  She  was  gone — had  been 
gone  for  weeks,  and  her  disgrace  was  known.  Friends 
warned  me  to  keep  out  of  reach  of  her  father.  I  trailed 
her — found  her.  I  married  her.  But  too  late ! . . .  She 
would  not  live  with  me.  She  left  me — I  followed  her 
west,  but  never  found  her." 

Warren  leaned  forward  a  little  and  looked  into  Cam 
eron's  eyes,  as  if  searching  there  for  the  repentance  that 
might  make  him  less  deserving  of  a  man's  scorn. 

Cameron  met  the  gaze  unflinchingly,  and  again  began 
to  speak: 

"You  know,  of  course,  how  men  out  here  somehow  lose 
old  names,  old  identities.  It  won't  surprise  you  much  to 
learn  my  name  really  isn't  Cameron,  as  I  once  told  you." 

Warren  stiffened  upright.  It  seemed  that  there  might 
have  been  a  blank,  a  suspension,  between  his  grave  in 
terest  and  some  strange  mood  to  come. 

Cameron  felt  his  heart  bulge  and  contract  in  his  breast ; 
all  his  body  grew  cold ;  and  it  took  tremendous  effort  for 
him  to  make  his  lips  form  words. 

"Warren,  I'm  the  man  you're  hunting.  I'm  Burton. 
I  was  Nell's  lover!" 

The  old  man  rose  and  towered  over  Cameron,  and  then 
plunged  down  upon  him,  and  clutched  at  his  throat  with 
terrible  stifling  hands.  The  harsh  contact,  the  pain 
awakened  Cameron  to  his  peril  before  it  was  too  late. 
Desperate  fighting  saved  him  from  being  hurled  to  the 
ground  and  stamped  and  crushed.  Warren  seemed  a 
maddened  giant.  There  was  a  reeling,  swaying,  wres 
tling  struggle  before  the  elder  man  began  to  weaken. 
Then  Cameron,  buffeted,  bloody,  half-stunned,  panted 
for  speech. 

"Warren — hold  on!  Give  me — a  minute.  I  married 
Nell.  Didn't  you  know  that?.  ..I  saved  the  child!" 

Cameron  felt  the  shock  that  vibrated  through  Warren. 

14 


PROLOGUE 

He  repeated  the  words  again  and  again.  As  if  compelled 
fy  some  resistless  power,  Warren  released  Cameron,  and, 
staggering  back,  stood  with  uplifted,  shaking  hands.  In 
his  face  was  a  horrible  darkness. 

"Warren !  Wait— listen !"  panted  Cameron.  "I've  got 
that  marriage  certificate — I've  had  it  by  me  all  these 
years.  I  kept  it — to  prove  to  myself  I  did  right." 

The  old  man  uttered  a  broken  cry. 

Cameron  stole  off  among  the  rocks.  How  long  he 
absented  himself  or  what  he  did  he  had  no  idea.  When 
he  returned  Warren  was  sitting  before  the  campfire,  and 
once  more  he  appeared  composed.  He  spoke,  and  his 
voice  had  a  deeper  note;  but  otherwise  he  seemed  as 
usual. 

They  packed  the  burros  and  faced  the  north  together. 

Cameron  experienced  a  singular  exaltation.  He  had 
lightened  his  comrade's  burden.  Wonderfully  it  came 
to  him  that  he  had  also  lightened  his  own.  From  that 
hour  it  was  not  torment  to  think  of  Nell.  Walking  with 
his  comrade  through  the  silent  places,  lying  beside  him 
under  the  serene  luminous  light  of  the  stars,  Cameron 
began  to  feel  the  haunting  presence  of  invisible  things 
that  were  real  to  him — phantoms  whispering  peace.  In 
the  moan  of  the  cool  wind,  in  the  silken  seep  of  sifting 
sand,  in  the  distant  rumble  of  a  slipping  ledge,  in  the 
faint  rush  of  a  shooting  star  he  heard  these  phantoms  of 
peace  coming  with  whispers  of  the  long  pain  of  men  at 
the  last  made  endurable.  Even  in  the  white  noonday, 
under  the  burning  sun,  these  phantoms  came  to  be  real  to 
him.  In  the  dead  silence  of  the  midnight  hours  he  heard 
them  breathing  nearer  on  the  desert  wind — nature's  voices 
of  motherhood,  whispers  of  God,  peace  in  the  solitude. 

IV 

There  came  a  morning  when  the  sun  shone  angry 
and  red  through  a  dull,  smoky  haze. 

"We're  in  for  sandstorms,"  said  Cameron. 

15 


DESERT    GOLD 

They  had  scarcely  covered  a  mile  when  a  desert-wide, 
moaning,  yellow  wall  of  flying  sand  swooped  down  upon 
them.  Seeking  shelter  in  the  lee  of  a  rock,  they  waited, 
hoping  the  storm  was  only  a  squall,  such  as  frequently 
whipped  across  the  open  places.  The  moan  increased  to 
a  roar,  and  the  dull  red  slowly  dimmed,  to  disappear  in 
the  yellow  pall,  and  the  air  grew  thick  and  dark.  Warren 
slipped  the  packs  from  the  burros.  Cameron  feared  the 
sandstorms  had  arrived  some  weeks  ahead  of  their  usual 
season. 

The  men  covered  their  heads  and  patiently  waited. 
The  long  hours  dragged,  and  the  storm  increased  in  fury. 
Cameron  and  Warren  wet  scarfs  with  water  from  their 
canteens,  and  bound  them  round  their  faces,  and  then 
covered  their  heads.  The  steady,  hollow  bellow  of  flying 
sand  went  on.  It  flew  so  thickly  that  enough  sifted  down 
under  the  shelving  rock  to  weight  the  blankets  and  al 
most  bury  the  men.  They  were  frequently  compelled 
to  shake  off  the  sand  to  keep  from  being  borne  to  the 
ground.  And  it  was  necessary  to  keep  digging  out  the 
packs.  The  floor  of  their  shelter  gradually  rose  higher 
and  higher.  They  tried  to  eat,  and  seemed  to  be  grinding 
only  sand  between  their  teeth.  They  lost  the  count  of 
time.  They  dared  not  sleep,  for  that  would  have  meant 
being  buried  alive.  They  could  only  crouch  close  to  the 
leaning  rock,  shake  off  the  sand,  blindly  dig  out  their 
packs,  and  every  moment  gasp  and  cough  and  choke  to 
fight  suffocation. 

The  storm  finally  blew  itself  out.  It  left  the  prospect 
ors  heavy  and  stupid  for  want  of  sleep.  Their  burros 
had  wandered  away,  or  had  been  buried  in  the  sand- 
Far  as  eye  could  reach  the  desert  had  marvelously 
changed ;  it  was  now  a  rippling  sea  of  sand  dunes.  Away 
to  the  north  rose  the  peak  that  was  their  only  guiding 
mark.  They  headed  toward  it,  carrying  a  shovel  and 
part  of  their  packs. 

At  noon  the  peak  vanished  in  the  shimmering  glare  of 

16 


PROLOGUE 

the  desert.  The  prospectors  pushed  on,  guided  by  the 
sun.  In  every  wash  they  tried  for  water.  With  the 
forked  peach  branch  in  his  hands  Warren  always  suc 
ceeded  in  locating  water.  They  dug,  but  it  lay  too  deep, 
At  length,  spent  and  sore,  they  fell  and  slept  through 
that  night  and  part  of  the  next  day.  Then  they  succeeded 
in  getting  water,  and  quenched  their  thirst,  and  filled  the 
canteens,  and  cooked  a  meal. 

The  burning  day  found  them  in  an  interminably  wide 
plain,  where  there  was  no  shelter  from  the  fierce  sun. 
The  men  were  exceedingly  careful  with  their  water, 
though  there  was  absolute  necessity  of  drinking  a  little 
every  hour.  Late  in  the  afternoon  they  came  to  a  canon 
that  they  believed  was  the  lower  end  of  the  one  in  which 
they  had  last  found  water.  For  hours  they  traveled 
toward  its  head,  and,  long  after  night  had  set,  found  what 
they  sought.  Yielding  to  exhaustion,  they  slept,  and  next 
day  were  loath  to  leave  the  waterhole.  Cool  night  spurred 
them  on  with  canteens  full  and  renewed  strength. 

Morning  told  Cameron  that  they  had  turned  back  miles 
into  the  desert,  and  it  was  desert  new  to  him.  The  red 
sun,  the  increasing  heat,  and  especially  the  variety  and 
large  size  of  the  cactus  plants  warned  Cameron  that  he 
had  descended  to  a  lower  level.  Mountain  peaks  loomed 
on  all  sides,  some  near,  others  distant;  and  one,  a  blue 
spur,  splitting  the  glaring  sky  far  to  the  north,  Cameron 
thought  he  recognized  as  a  landmark.  The  ascent  toward 
it  was  heartbreaking,  not  in  steepness,  but  in  its  league- 
and-league-long  monotonous  rise.  Cameron  knew  there 
was  only  one  hope — to  make  the  water  hold  out  and  never 
stop  to  rest.  Warren  began  to  weaken.  Often  he  had  to 
halt.  The  burning  white  day  passed,  and  likewise  the 
night,  with  its  white  stars  shining  so  pitilessly  cold  and 
bright. 

Cameron  measured  the  water  in  his  canteen  by  its 
weight.  Evaporation  by  heat  consumed  as  much  as  he 
drank,  During  one  of  the  rests,  when  he  had  wetted  his 

17 


DESERT    GOLD 

parched  mouth  and  throat,  he  found  opportunity  to  pour 
a  little  water  from  his  canteen  into  Warren's. 

At  first  Cameron  had  curbed  his  restless  activity  to 
accommodate  the  pace  of  his  elder  comrade.  But  now  he 
felt  that  he  was  losing  something  of  his  instinctive  and 
passionate  zeal  to  get  out  of  the  desert.  The  thought  of 
water  came  to  occupy  his  mind.  He  began  to  imagine 
that  his  last  little  store  of  water  did  not  appreciably 
diminish.  He  knew  he  was  not  quite  right  in  his  mind 
regarding  water ;  nevertheless,  he  felt  this  to  be  more  of 
fact  than  fancy,  and  he  began  to  ponder. 

When  next  they  rested  he  pretended  to  be  in  a  kind 
of  stupor;  but  he  covertly  watched  Warren.  The  man 
appeared  far  gone,  yet  he  had  cunning.  He  cautiously 
took  up  Cameron's  canteen  and  poured  water  into  it 
from  his  own. 

This  troubled  Cameron.  The  old  irritation  at  not  being 
able  to  thwart  Warren  returned  to  him.  Cameron  re 
flected,  and  concluded  that  he  had  been  unwise  not  to 
expect  this  very  thing.  Then,  as  his  comrade  dropped 
into  weary  rest,  he  lifted  both  canteens.  If  there  were 
any  water  in  Warren's,  it  was  only  very  little.  Both  men 
had  been  enduring  the  terrible  desert  thirst,  concealing  it, 
each  giving  his  water  to  the  other,  and  the  sacrifice  had 
been  useless. 

Instead  of  ministering  to  the  parched  throats  of  one  or 
both,  the  water  had  evaporated.  When  Cameron  made 
sure  of  this,  he  took  one  more  drink,  the  last,  and  poured 
the  little  water  left  into  Warren's  canteen.  He  threw  his 
own  away. 

Soon  afterward  Warren  discovered  the  loss. 

"Where's  your  canteen?"  he  asked. 

"The  heat  was  getting  my  water,  so  I  drank  what  was 
left." 

"My  son!"  said  Warren. 

The  day  opened  for  them  in  a  red  and  green  hell  of  rock 
and  cactus.  Like  a  flame  the  sun  scorched  and  peeled 

38 


PROLOGUE 

their  faces.  Warren  went  blind  from  the  glare,  and 
Cameron  had  to  lead  him.  At  last  Warren  plunged  down, 
exhausted,  in  the  shade  of  a  ledge. 

Cameron  rested  and  waited,  hopeless,  with  hot,  weary 
eyes  gazing  down  from  the  height  where  he  sat.  The 
ledge  was  the  top  step  of  a  ragged  gigantic  stairway. 
Below  stretched  a  sad,  austere,  and  lonely  valley.  A  dim, 
wide  streak',  lighter  than  the  bordering  gray,  wound  down 
the  valley  floor.  Once  a  river  had  flowed  there,  leaving 
only  a  forlorn  trace  down  the  winding  floor  of  this  forlorn 
valley. 

Movement  on  the  part  of  Warren  attracted  Cameron's 
attention.  Evidently  the  old  prospector  had  recovered 
his  sight  and  some  of  his  strength.  For  he  had  arisen, 
and  now  began  to  walk  along  the  arroyo  bed  with  his 
forked  peach  branch  held  before  him.  He  had  clung  to 
that  precious  bit  of  wood.  Cameron  considered  the  pros 
pect  for  water  hopeless,  because  he  saw  that  the  arroyo 
had  once  been  a  canon,  and  had  been  filled  with  sands  by 
desert  winds.  Warren,  however,  stopped  in  a  deep  pit, 
and,  cutting  his  canteen  in  half,  began  to  use  one  side  of 
it  as  a  scoop.  He  scooped  out  a  wide  hollow,  so  wide  that 
Cameron  was  certain  he  had  gone  crazy.  Cameron  gently 
urged  him  to  stop,  and  then  forcibly  tried  to  make  him. 
But  these  efforts  were  futile.  Warren  worked  with  slow, 
ceaseless,  methodical  movement.  He  toiled  for  what 
seemed  hours.  Cameron,  seeing  the  darkening,  damp 
ening  sand,  realized  a  wonderful  possibility  of  water,  and 
he  plunged  into  the  pit  with  the  other  half  of  the  canteen. 
Then  both  men  toiled,  round  and  round  the  wide  hole, 
down  deeper  and  deeper.  The  sand  grew  moist,  then  wet. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  deep  pit  the  sand  coarsened,  gave 
place  to  gravel.  Finally  water  welled  in,  a  stronger  vol 
ume  than  Cameron  ever  remembered  finding  on  the 
desert.  It  would  soon  fill  the  hole  and  run  over.  He 
marveled  at  the  circumstance.  The  time  was  near  the 
end  of  the  dry  season.  Perhaps  an  underground  stream 

19 


DESERT    GOLD 

flowed  from  the  range  behind  down  to  the  valley  floor, 
and  at  this  point  came  near  to  the  surface.  Cameron 
had  heard  of  such  desert  miracles. 

The  finding  of  water  revived  Cameron's  flagging  hopes. 
But  they  were  short-lived.  Warren  had  spent  himself 
utterly. 

"I'm  done.  Don't  linger,"  he  whispered.  "My  son, 
go— go !" 

Then  he  fell.  Cameron  dragged  him  out  of  the  sand 
pit  to  a  sheltered  place  under  the  ledge.  While  sitting 
beside  the  failing  man  Cameron  discoverec  painted  images 
on  the  wall.  Often  in  the  desert  he  had  found  these  evi 
dences  of  a  prehistoric  people.  Then,  from  long  habit, 
he  picked  up  a  piece  of  rock  and  examined  it.  Its  weight 
made  him  closely  scrutinize  it.  The  color  was  a  peculiar 
black.  He  scraped  through  the  black  rust  to  find  a  piece 
of  gold.  Around  him  lay  scattered  heaps  of  black  peb 
bles  and  bits  of  black,  weathered  rock  and  pieces  of 
broken  ledge,  and  they  showed  gold. 

"Warren!     Look!     See  it!     Feel  it!     Gold!" 

But  Warren  had  never  cared,  and  now  he  was  too  blind 
to  see. 

"Go — go !"  he  whispered. 

Cameron  gazed  down  the  gray  reaches  of  that  forlorn 
valley,  and  something  within  him  that  was  neither  in 
telligence  nor  emotion — something  inscrutably  strange — 
impelled  him  to  promise. 

Then  Cameron  built  up  stone  monuments  to  mark  his 
gold  strike.  That  done,  he  tarried  beside  the  uncon 
scious  Warren.  Moments  passed — grew  into  hours. 
Cameron  still  had  strength  left  to  make  an  effort  to  get 
out  of  the  desert.  But  that  same  inscrutable  something 
which  had  ordered  his  strange  involuntary  promise  to 
Warren  held  him  beside  his  fallen  comrade.  He  watched 
the  white  sun  turn  to  gold,  and  then  to  red,  and  sink  behind 
mountains  in  the  west.  Twilight  stole  into  the  arroyo. 
It  lingered,  slowly  turning  to  gloom.  The  vault  of  blue- 


PROLOGUE 

black  lightened  to  the  blinking  of  stars.     Then  fell  the 
serene,  silent,  luminous  desert  night. 

Cameron  kept  his  vigil.  As  the  long  hours  wore  on  he 
felt  creep  over  him  the  comforting  sense  that  he  need  not 
forever  fight  sleep.  A  wan  glow  flared  behind  the  dark, 
uneven  horizon,  and  a  melancholy  misshapen  moon  rose 
to  make  the  white  night  one  of  shadows.  Absolute  si 
lence  claimed  the  desert.  It  was  mute.  Then  that  in* 
scrutable  something  breathed  to  him,  telling  him  when 
he  was  alone.  He  need  not  have  looked  at  the  dark,  still 
face  beside  him. 

Another  face  haunted  Cameron's — a  woman's  face. 
It  was  there  in  the  white  moonlit  shadows ;  it  drifted  in 
the  darkness  beyond;  it  softened,  changed  to  that  of  a 
young  girl,  sweet,  with  the  same  dark,  haunting  eyes  of 
her  mother.  Cameron  prayed  to  that  nameless  thing 
within  him,  the  spirit  of  something  deep  and  mystical  as 
life.  He  prayed  to  that  nameless  thing  outside,  of  which 
the  rocks  and  the  sand,  the  spiked  cactus  and  the  ragged 
lava,  the  endless  waste,  with  its  vast  star-fired  mantle, 
were  but  atoms.  He  prayed  for  mercy  to  a  woman — for 
'happiness  to  her  child.  Both  mother  and  daughter  were 
close  to  him  then.  Time  and  distance  were  annihilated. 
He  had  faith — he  saw  into  the  future.  The  fateful  threads 
of  the  past,  so  inextricably  woven  with  his  error,  wound 
out  their  tragic  length  here  in  this  forlorn  desert. 

Cameron  then  took  a  little  tin  box  from  his  pocket, 
and,  opening  it,  removed  a  folded  certificate.  He  had 
kept  a  pen,  and  now  he  wrote  something  upon  the  paper, 
and  in  lieu  of  ink  he  wrote  with  blood.  The  moon 
afforded  him  enough  light  to  see;  and,  having  re 
placed  the  paper,  he  laid  the  little  box  upon  a  shelf  of 
rock.  It  would  remain  there  unaffected  by  dust,  mois 
ture,  heat,  time.  How  long  had  those  painted  images  been 
there  clear  and  sharp  on  the  dry  stone  walls  ?  There  were 
no  trails  in  that  desert,  and  always  there  were  incalculable 
changes,  Cameron  saw  this  mutable  mood  of  nature — 

•21 


DESERT    GOLD 

the  sands  would  fly  and  seep  and  carve  and  bury;  the 
floods  would  dig  and  cut ;  the  ledges  would  weather  in  the 
heat  and  rain;  the  avalanches  would  slide;  the  cactus 
seeds  would  roll  in  the  wind  to  catch  in  a  niche  and  split 
the  soil  with  thirsty  roots.  Years  would  pass.  Cameron 
seemed  to  see  them,  too;  and  likewise  destiny  leading  a 
child  down  into  this  forlorn  waste,  where  she  would  find 
love  and  fortune,  and  the  grave  of  her  father. 

Cameron  covered  the  dark,  still  face  of  his  comrade 
from  the  light  of  the  waning  moon. 

That  action  was  the  severing  of  his  hold  on  realities. 
They  fell  away  from  him  in  final  separation.  Vaguely, 
dreamily  he  seemed  to  behold  his  soul.  Night  merged 
into  gray  day;  and  night  came  again,  weird  and  dark. 
Then  up  out  of  the  vast  void  of  the  desert,  from  the  si 
lence  and  illimitableness,  trooped  his  phantoms  of  peace. 
Majestically  they  formed  around  him,  marshaling  and 
mustering  in  ceremonious  state,  and  moved  to  lay  upon 
him  their  passionless  serenity 


OLD  FRIENDS 

RICHARD  GALE  reflected  that  his  sojourn  in  the 
West  had  been  what  his  disgusted  father  had  pre 
dicted — idling  here  and  dreaming  there,  with  no  objective 
point  or  purpose. 

It  was  reflection  such  as  this,  only  more  serious  and 
perhaps  somewhat  desperate,  that  had  brought  Gale 
down  to  the  border.  For  some  time  the  newspapers  had 
been  printing  news  of  Mexican  revolution,  guerrilla  war 
fare,  United  States  cavalry  patrolling  the  international 
line,  American  cowboys  fighting  with  the  rebels,  and  wild 
stories  of  bold  raiders  and  bandits.  Regarding  these 
rumors  Gale  was  skeptical.  But  as  opportunity,  and  ad 
venture,  too,  had  apparently  given  him  a  wide  berth  in 
Montana,  Wyoming,  Colorado,  he  had  struck  southwest 
for  the  Arizona  border,  where  he  hoped  to  see  some 
stirring  life.  He  did  not  care  very  much  what  happened. 
Months  of  futile  wandering  in  the  hope  of  finding  a  place 
where  he  fitted  had  inclined  Richard  to  his  father's 
opinion. 

It  was  after  dark  one  evening  in  early  October  when 
Richard  arrived  in  Casita.  He  was  surprised  to  find  that 
it  was  evidently  a  town  of  importance.  There  was  a 
jostling,  jabbering,  sombreroed  crowd  of  Mexicans  around 
the  railroad  station.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  in  a  foreign 
country.  After  a  while  he  saw  several  men  of  his  nation 
ality,  one  of  whom  he  engaged  to  carry  his  luggage  to  a 
hotel.  They  walked  up  a  wide,  well-lighted  street  lined 
with  buildings  in  which  were  bright  windows.  Of  the 

23 


DESERT    GOLD 

many  people  encountered  by  Gale  most  were  Mexicans 
His  guide  explained  that  the  smaller  half  of  Casita  lay 
in  Arizona,  the  other  half  in  Mexico,  and  of  several  thou 
sand  inhabitants  the  majority  belonged  on  the  southern 
side  of  the  street,  which  was  the  boundary  line.  He  also 
said  that  rebels  had  entered  the  town  that  day,  causing 
a  good  deal  of  excitement. 

Gale  was  almost  at  the  end  of  his  financial  resources, 
which  fact  occasioned  him  to  turn  away  from  a  preten 
tious  hotel  and  ask  his  guide  for  a  cheaper  lodging-house. 
When  this  was  found,  a  sight  of  the  loungers  in  the 
office,  and  also  a  desire  for  comfort,  persuaded  Gale  to 
change  his  traveling-clothes  for  rough  outing  garb  and 
'  »oots. 

"Well,  I'm  almost  broke,"  he  soliloquized,  thoughtfully. 
"The  governor  said  I  wouldn't  make  any  money.  He's 
right — so  far.  And  he  said  I'd  be  coming  home  beaten. 
There  he's  wrong.  I've  got  a  hunch  that  something  '11 
happen  to  me  in  this  Greaser  town." 

He  went  out  into  a  wide,  whitewashed,  high-ceiled 
corridor,  and  from  that  into  an  immense  room  which, 
but  for  pool  tables,  bar,  and  benches,  would  have  been  like 
a  courtyard.  The  floor  was  cobblestoned,  the  walls  were 
of  adobe,  and  the  large  windows  opened  like  doors.  A 
blue  cloud  of  smoke  rilled  the  place.  Gale  heard  the  click 
of  pool  balls  and  the  clink  of  glasses  along  the  crowded 
bar.  Bare-legged,  sandal-footed  Mexicans  in  white  rub 
bed  shoulders  with  Mexicans  mantled  in  black  and  red. 
There  were  others  in  tight-fitting  blue  uniforms  with  gold 
fringe  or  tassels  at  the  shoulders.  These  men  wore  belts 
with  heavy,  bone-handled  guns,  and  evidently  were  the 
rurales,  or  native  policemen.  There  were  black-bearded, 
coarse-visaged  Americans,  some  gambling  round  the  little 
tables,  others  drinking.  The  pool  tables  were  the  center 
of  a  noisy  crowd  of  younger  men,  several  of  whom  were 
unsteady  on  their  feet.  There  were  khaki-clad  cavalry- 
men  strutting  in  and  out. 

24 


OLD     FRIENDS 

At  one  end  of  the  room,  somewhat  apart  from  the  gen 
eral  melee,  was  a  group  of  six  men  round  a  little  table, 
four  of  whom  were  seated,  the  other  two  standing.  These 
last  two  drew  a  second  glance  from  Gale.  The  sharp- 
featured,  bronzed  faces  and  piercing  eyes,  the  tall,  slender, 
loosely  jointed  bodies,  the  quiet,  easy,  reckless  air  that 
seemed  to  be  a  part  of  the  men — these  things  would  plain 
ly  have  stamped  them  as  cowboys  without  the  buckled 
sombreros,  the  colored  scarfs,  the  high-topped,  high- 
heeled  boots  with  great  silver-roweled  spurs.  Gale  did 
not  fail  to  note,  also,  that  these  cowboys  wore  guns,  and 
this  fact  was  rather  a  shock  to  his  idea  of  the  modern 
West.  It  caused  him  to  give  some  credence  to  the  rumors 
of  righting  along  the  border,  and  he  felt  a  thrill. 

He  satisfied  his  hunger  in  a  restaurant  adjoining,  and 
as  he  stepped  back  into  the  saloon  a  man  wearing  a  mili 
tary  cape  jostled  him.  Apologies  from  both  were  instant. 
Gale  was  moving  on  when  the  other  stopped  short  as  if 
startled,  and,  leaning  forward,  exclaimed: 

"Dick  Gale?" 

"You've  got  me,"  replied  Gale,  in  surprisCo  "But  I 
don't  know  you." 

He  could  not  see  the  stranger's  face,  because  it  was 
wholly  shaded  by  a  wide-brimmed  hat  pulled  well  down. 

"By  Jove!  It's  Dick!  If  this  isn't  great!  Don't 
you  know  me?" 

"I've  heard  your  voice  somewhere,"  replied  Gale. 
"Maybe  I'll  recognize  you  if  you  come  out  from  under 
that  bonnet." 

For  answer  the  man,  suddenly  manifesting  thought  of 
himself,  hurriedly  drew  Gale  into  the  restaurant,  where 
he  thrust  back  his  hat  to  disclose  a  handsome,  sun 
burned  face. 

"George  Thorne!     So  help  me — " 

"  'S-s-ssh.  You  needn't  yell,"  interrupted  the  other, 
as  he  met  Gale's  outstretched  hand,  There  was  a  c!oseB 
hard,  straining  grip,  "I  must  not  be  recognized  here. 


DESERT   GOLD 

There  are  reasons.  I'll  explain  in  a  minute.  Say,  but 
it's  fine  to  see  you !  Five  years,  Dick,  five  years  since  I 
saw  you  run  down  University  Field  and  spread-eagle  the 
whole  Wisconsin  football  team." 

"Don't  recollect  that,"  replied  Dick,  laughing.  "George, 
I'll  bet  you  I'm  gladder  to  see  you  than  you  are  to  see  me. 
It  seems  so  long.  You  went  into  the  army,  didn't  you?" 

"I  did.  I'm  here  now  with  the  Ninth  Cavalry.  But 
— -never  mind  me.  What're  you  doing  way  down  here? 
Say,  I  just  noticed  your  togs.  Dick,  you  can't  be  go 
ing  in  for  mining  or  ranching,  not  in  this  God-forsaken 
desert?" 

"On  the  square,  George,  I  don't  know  any  more  why 
I'm  here  than — than  you  know." 

"Well,  that  beats  me !"  ejaculated  Thorne,  sitting  back 
in  his  chair,  amaze  and  concern  in  his  expression.  "What 
the  devil's  wrong?  Your  old  man's  got  too  much  money 
for  you  ever  to  be  up  against  it.  Dick,  you  couldn't  have 
gone  to  the  bad?" 

A  tide  of  emotion  surged  over  Gale.  How  good  it  was 
to  meet  a  friend — some  one  to  whom  to  talk!  He  had 
never  appreciated  his  loneliness  until  that  moment. 

"George,  how  I  ever  drifted  down  here  I  don't  know. 
I  didn't  exactly  quarrel  with  the  governor.  But — damn 
it,  Dad  hurt  me — shamed  me,  and  I  dug  out  for  the 
West.  It  was  this  way.  After  leaving  college  I  tried  to 
please  him  by  tackling  one  thing  after  another  that  he  set 
me  to  do.  On  the  square,  I  had  no  head  for  business. 
I  made  a  mess  of  everything.  The  governor  got  sore. 
He  kept  ramming  the  harpoon  into  me  till  I  just  couldn't 
stand  it.  What  little  ability  I  possessed  deserted  me 
when  I  got  my  back  up,  and  there  you  are.  Dad  and  I 
had  a  rather  uncomfortable  half  hour.  When  I  quit — 
when  I  told  him  straight  out  that  I  was  going  West  to 
fare  for  myself,  why,  it  wouldn't  have  been  so  tough  if 
he  hadn't  laughed  at  me.  He  called  me  a  rich  man's 
son — an  idle,  easy-going,  spineless  swell.  He  said  I  didn't 

26 


OLD    FRIENDS 

even  have  character  enough  to  be  out  and  out  bad.  He 
said  I  didn't  have  sense  enough  to  marry  one  of  the  nice 
girls  in  my  sister's  crowd.  He  said  I  couldn't  earn  a  dol 
lar — that  I'd  starve  out  West,  and  couldn't  get  back  home 
unless  I  sent  to  him  for  money.  He  said  he  didn't  believe 
I  could  fight — could  really  make  a  fight  for  anything  under 
the  sun.  Oh — he — he  shot  it  into  me,  all  right." 

Dick  dropped  his  head  upon  his  hands,  somewhat 
ashamed  of  the  smarting  dimness  in  his  eyes.  He  had  not 
meant  to  say  so  much.  Yet  what  a  relief  to  let  out  that 
long-congested  burden! 

"Fight!"  cried  Thorne,  hotly.  "What's  ailing  him? 
Didn't  they  call  you  Biff  Gale  in  college?  Dick,  you 
were  one  of  the  best  men  Stagg  ever  developed.  I  heard 
him  say  so — that  you  were  the  fastest  one-hundred-and- 
seventy-five-pound  man  he'd  ever  trained,  the  hardest  to 
stop." 

"The  governor  didn't  count  football,"  said  Dick.  "He 
didn't  mean  that  kind  of  a  fight.  When  I  left  home  I 
don't  think  I  had  an  idea  what  was  wrong  with  me.  But 
George,  I  think  I  know  now.  I  was  a  rich  man's  son — 
spoiled,  dependent,  absolutely  ignorant  of  the  value  of 
money.  I  haven't  yet  discovered  any  earning  capacity 
in  me.  I  seem  to  be  unable  to  do  anything  with  my 
hands.  That's  the  trouble.  But  I'm  at  the  end  of  my 
tether  now.  And  I'm  going  to  punch  cattle  or  be  a  miner, 
or  do  some  real  stunt — like  joining  the  rebels." 

"Aha!  I  thought  you'd  spring  that  last  one  on  me," 
declared  Thorne,  wagging  his  head.  "Well,  you  just  for 
get  it.  Say,  old  boy,  there's  something  doing  in  Mexico. 
The  United  States  in  general  doesn't  realize  it.  But 
across  that  line  there  are  crazy  revolutionists,  ill-paid 
soldiers,  guerrilla  leaders,  raiders,  robbers,  outlaws,  ban 
dits  galore,  starving  peons  by  the  thousand,  girls  and 
women  in  terror.  Mexico  is  like  some  of  her  volcanoes 
• — ready  to  erupt  fire  and  hell!  Don't  make  the  awful 
mistake  of  joining  the  rebel  forces.  Americans  are  hated 

27 


DESERT    GOLD 

by  Mexicans  of  the  lower  class — the  fighting  class,  both 
rebel  and  federal.  Half  the  time  these  crazy  Greasers  are 
on  one  side,  then  on  the  other.  If  you  didn't  starve  or 
get  shot  in  ambush,  or  die  of  thirst,  some  Greaser  would 
knife  you  in  the  back  for  your  belt  buckle  or  boots.  There 
are  a  good  many  Americans  with  the  rebels  eastward 
toward  Agua  Prieta  and  Juarez.  Orozco  is  operating  in 
Chihuahua,  and  I  guess  he  has  some  idea  of  warfare. 
But  this  is  Sonora,  a  mountainous  desert,  the  home  of  the 
slave  and  the  Yaqui.  There's  unorganized  revolt  every 
where.  The  American  miners  and  ranchers,  those  who 
could  get  away,  have  fled  across  into  the  States,  leaving 
property.  Those  who  couldn't  or  wouldn't  come  must 
fight  for  their  lives,  are  fighting  now." 

"That's   bad,"   said   Gale.     "It's  news  to  me.     Why 
doesn't  the  government  take  action,  do  something?" 

"Afraid  of  international  complications.  Don't  want 
to  offend  the  Maderists,  or  be  criticized  by  jealous  for 
eign  nations.  It's  a  delicate  situation,  Dick.  The 
Washington  officials  know  the  gravity  of  it,  you  can  bet 
But  the  United  States  in  general  is  in  the  dark,  and  the 
army — well,  you  ought  to  hear  the  inside  talk  back  at 
San  Antonio.  We're  patrolling  the  boundary  line.  We're 
making  a  grand  bluff.  I  could  tell  you  of  a  dozen  in 
stances  where  cavalry  should  have  pursued  raiders  on  the 
other  side  of  the  line.  But  we  won't  do  it.  The  officers 
are  a  grouchy  lot  these  days  You  see,  of  course,  what 
significance  would  attach  to  United  States  cavalry  going 
into  Mexican  territory.  There  would  simply  be  hell. 
My  own  colonel  is  the  sorest  man  on  the  job.  We're  all 
sore.  It's  like  sitting  on  a  powder  magazine.  We  can't 
keep  the  rebels  and  raiders  from  crossing  the  line.  Yet 
we  don't  fight.  My  commission  expires  soon.  I'll  be 
discharged  in  three  months.  You  can  bet  I'm  glad  for 
more  reasons  than  I've  mentioned." 

Thorne  was  evidently  laboring  under  strong,  suppressed 
excitement.     His  face  showed  pale  under  the  tan,  and  his 

28 


OLD     FRIENDS 

eyes  gleamed  with  a  dark  fire.  Occasionally  his  delight 
at  meeting,  talking  with  Gale,  dominated  the  other  emo 
tions,  but  not  for  long.  He  had  seated  himself  at  a  table 
near  one  of  the  doorlike  windows  leading  into  the  street, 
and  every  little  while  he  would  glance  sharply  out.  Also 
he  kept  consulting  his  watch. 

These  details  gradually  grew  upon  Gale  as  Thorne  talked. 

"George,  it  strikes  me  that  you're  upset,"  said  Dick, 
presently.  "I  seem  to  remember  you  as  a  cool-headed 
fellow  whom  nothing  could  disturb.  Has  the  army 
changed  you?" 

Thorne  laughed.  It  was  a  laugh  with  a  strange,  high 
note.  It  was  reckless — it  hinted  of  exaltation.  He  rose 
abruptly ;  he  gave  the  waiter  money  to  go  for  drinks ;  he 
looked  into  the  saloon,  and  then  into  the  street.  On  this 
side  of  the  house  there  was  a  porch  opening  on  a  plaza 
with  trees  and  shrubbery  and  branches.  Thorne  peered 
out  one  window,  then  another.  His  actions  were  rapid. 
Returning  to  the  table,  he  put  his  hands  upon  it  and 
leaned  over  to  look  closely  into  Gale's  face. 

"Tm  away  from  camp  without  leave,"  he  said. 

"Isn't  that  a  serious  offense  ?"  asked  Dick. 

"Serious?  For  me,  if  I'm  discovered,  it  means  ruin. 
There  are  rebels  in  town.  Any  moment  we  might  have 
trouble.  I  ought  to  be  ready  for  duty — within  call.  If 
I'm  discovered  it  means  arrest.  That  means  delay — the 
failure  of  my  plans — ruin." 

Gale  was  silenced  by  his  friend's  intensity.  Thorne 
bent  over  closer  with  his  dark  eyes  searchingly  bright, 

"We  were  old  pals — once?" 

"Surely,"  replied  Dick. 

"What  would  you  say,  Dick  Gale,  it  I  told  you  that 
you're  the  one  man  I'd  rather  have  had  come  along  than 
any  other  at  this  crisis  of  my  life?" 

The  earnest  gaze,  the  passionate  voice  with  its  deep 
tremor  drew  Dick  upright,  thrilling  and  eager,  conscious 
of  strange,  unfamiliar  impetuosity. 

29 


DESERT    GOLD 

"Thome,  I  should  say  I  was  glad  to  be  the  fellow/'  re 
plied  Dick. 

Their  hands  locked  for  a  moment,  and  they  sat  down 
again  with  heads  close  over  the  table. 

"Listen,"  began  Thorne,  in  low,  swift  whisper,  "a  few 
days,  a  week  ago — it  seems  like  a  year ! — I  was  of  some 
assistance  to  refugees  fleeing  from  Mexico  into  the  States. 
They  were  all  women,  and  one  of  them  was  dressed  as  a 
nun.  Quite  by  accident  I  saw  her  face.  It  was  that  of 
a  beautiful  girl.  I  observed  she  kept  aloof  from  the 
others.  I  suspected  a  disguise,  and,  when  opportunity 
afforded,  spoke  to  her,  offered  my  services.  She  replied 
to  my  poor  efforts  at  Spanish  in  fluent  English.  She  had 
fled  in  terror  from  her  home,  some  place  down  in  Sinaloa. 
Rebels  are  active  there.  Her  father  was  captured  and 
held  for  ransom.  When  the  ransom  was  paid  the  rebels 
killed  him.  The  leader  of  these  rebels  was  a  bandit 
named  Rojas.  Long  before  the  revolution  began  he  had 
been  feared  by  people  of  class — loved  by  the  peons.  Ban 
dits  are  worshiped  by  the  peons.  All  of  the  famous  bandits 
have  robbed  the  rich  and  given  to  the  poor.  Rojas  saw 
the  daughter,  made  off  with  her.  But  she  contrived  to 
bribe  her  guards,  and  escaped  almost  immediately  before 
any  harm  befell  her.  She  hid  among  friends.  Rojas 
nearly  tore  down  the  town  in  his  efforts  to  find  her.  Then 
she  disguised  herself,  and  traveled  by  horseback,  stage, 
and  train  to  Casita. 

"Her  story  fascinated  me,  and  that  one  fleeting  glimpse 
I  had  of  her  face  I  couldn't  forget.  She  had  no  friends 
here,  no  money.  She  knew  Rojas  was  trailing  her.  This 
talk  I  had  with  her  was  at  the  railroad  station,  where 
all  was  bustle  and  confusion.  No  one  noticed  us,  so  I 
thought.  I  advised  her  to  remove  the  disguise  of  a  nun 
before  she  left  the  waiting-room.  And  I  got  a  boy  to 
guide  her.  But  he  fetched  her  to  this  house.  I  had 
promised  to  come  in  the  evening  to  talk  over  the  situation 
with  her. 


OLD    FRIENDS 

S'I  found  her,  Dick,  and  when  I  saw  her — I  went  stark, 
staring,  raving  mad  over  her.  She  is  the  most  beautiful, 
wonderful  girl  I  ever  saw.  Her  name  is  Mercedes  Casta- 
fieda,  and  she  belongs  to  one  of  the  old  wealthy  Spanish 
families.  She  has  lived  abroad  and  in  Havana.  She 
speaks  French  as  well  as  English.  She  is — but  I  must  be 
brief. 

"Dick,  think,  think!  With  Mercedes  also  it  was  love 
at  first  sight.  My  plan  is  to  marry  her  and  get  her  farther 
to  the  interior,  away  from  the  border.  It  may  not  be 
easy.  She's  watched.  So  am  I.  It  was  impossible  to 
see  her  without  the  women  of  this  house  knowing.  At 
first,  perhaps,  they  had  only  curiosity — an  itch  to  gossip. 
But  the  last  two  days  there  has  been  a  change.  Since 
last  night  there's  some  powerful  influence  at  work.  Oh, 
these  Mexicans  are  subtle,  mysterious!  After  all,  they 
are  Spaniards.  They  work  in  secret,  in  the  dark.  They 
are  dominated  first  by  religion,  then  by  gold,  then  by  pas 
sion  for  a  woman.  Rojas  must  have  got  word  to  his 
friends  here;  yesterday  his  gang  of  cutthroat  rebels  ar 
rived,  and  to-day  he  came.  When  I  learned  that,  I  took 
my  chance  and  left  camp;  I  hunted  up  a  priest.  He 
promised  to  come  here.  It's  time  he's  due.  But  I'm 
afraid  he'll  be  stopped." 

"Thorne,  why  don't  you  take  the  girl  and  get  married 
without  waiting,  without  running  these  risks  ?"  said  Dick. 

"I  fear  it's  too  late  now.  I  should  have  done  that  last 
night.  You  see,  we're  over  the  line — " 

"Are  we  in  Mexican  territory  now?"  queried  Gale, 
sharply. 

"I  guess  yes,  old  boy.  That's  what  complicates  it. 
Rojas  and  his  rebels  have  Casita  in  their  hands.  But 
Rojas  without  his  rebels  would  be  able  to  stop  me,  get 
the  girl,  and  make  for  his  mountain  haunts.  If  Mercedes 
is  really  watched — if  her  identity  is  known,  which  I  am 
sure  is  the  case — we  couldn't  get  far  from  this  house  be 
fore  I'd  be  knifed  and  she  seized." 

31 


DESERT    GOLD 

"Good  Heavens !  Thorne,  can  that  sort  of  thing  hap 
pen  less  than  a  stone's  throw  from  the  United  States 
line?"  asked  Gale,  incredulously. 

"It  can  happen,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  You  don't 
seem  to  realize  the  power  these  guerrilla  leaders,  these 
rebel  captains,  and  particularly  these  bandits,  exercise 
over  the  mass  of  Mexicans.  A  bandit  is  a  man  of  honor 
in  Mexico.  He  is  feared,  envied,  loved.  In  the  hearts 
of  the  people  he  stands  next  to  the  national  idol — the 
bull-fighter,  the  matador.  The  race  has  a  wild,  barbarian, 
bloody  strain.  Take  Quinteros,  for  instance.  He  was  a 
peon,  a  slave.  He  became  a  famous  bandit.  At  the  out 
break  of  the  revolution  he  proclaimed  himself  a  leader, 
and  with  a  band  of  followers  he  devastated  whole  coun 
ties.  The  opposition  to  federal  forces  was  only  a  blind  to 
rob  and  riot  and  carry  off  women.  The  motto  of  this  man 
and  his  followers  was:  'Let  us  enjoy  ourselves  while 
we  may!' 

"There  are  other  bandits  besides  Quinteros,  not  so 
famous  or  such  great  leaders,  but  just  as  bloodthirsty. 
I've  seen  Rojas.  He's  a  handsome,  bold,  sneering  devil, 
vainer  than  any  peacock.  He  decks  himself  in  gold  lace 
and  silver  trappings,  in  all  the  finery  he  can  steal.  He 
was  one  of  the  rebels  who  helped  sack  Sinaloa  and  carry 
off  half  a  million  in  money  and  valuables.  Rojas  spends 
gold  like  he  spills  blood.  But  he  is  chiefly  famous  for 
abducting  women.  The  peon  girls  consider  it  an  honor 
to  be  ridden  off  with.  Rojas  has  shown  a  penchant  for 
girls  of  the  better  class." 

Thorne  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  pale  face  and 
bent  a  dark  gaze  out  of  the  window  before  he  resumed 
his  talk. 

"Consider  what  the  position  of  Mercedes  really  is,  I 
can't  get  any  help  from  our  side  of  the  line.  If  so,  I  don't 
know  where.  The  population  on  that  side  is  mostly 
Mexican,  absolutely  in  sympathy  with  whatever  actuates 
those  on  this  side.  The  whole  caboodle  of  Greasers  on 


OLD     FRIENDS 

both  sides  belong  to  the  class  in  sympathy  with  the  rebels, 
the  class  that  secretly  respects  men  like  Rojas,  and  hates 
an  aristocrat  like  Mercedes.  They  would  conspire  to 
throw  her  into  his  power.  Rojas  can  turn  all  the  hidden 
underground  influences  to  his  ends.  Unless  I  thwart  him 
he'll  get  Mercedes  as  easily  as  he  can  light  a  cigarette. 
But  I'll  kill  him  or  some  of  his  gang  or  her  before  I  let 
him  get  her.... This  is  the  situation,  old  friend.  I've 
little  time  to  spare.  I  face  arrest  for  desertion.  Rojas  13 
in  town.  I  think  I  was  followed  to  this  hotel.  The  priest 
has  betrayed  me  or  has  been  stopped.  Mercedes  is  here 
alone,  waiting,  absolutely  dependent  upon  me  to  sav£ 
her  from — from ....  She's  the  sweetest,  loveliest  girl ! . . .  * 
In  a  few  moments — sooner  or  later  there'll  be  hell  here! 
Dick,  are  you  with  me?" 

Dick  Gale  drew  a  long,  deep  breath.  A  coldness,  a 
lethargy,  and  indifference  that  had  weighed  upon  him  for 
months  had  passed  out  of  his  being.  On  the  instant  he 
could  not  speak,  but  his  hand  closed  powerfully  upon  his 
friend's.  Thome's  face  changed  wonderfully,  the  dis 
tress,  the  fear,  the  appeal  all  vanishing  in  a  smile  of 
passionate  gratefulness. 

Then  Dick's  gaze,  attracted  by  some  slight  sound,  shot 
over  his  friend's  shoulder  to  see  a  face  at  the  window — a 
handsome,  bold,  sneering  face,  with  glittering  dark  eyes 
that  flashed  in  sinister  intentness. 

Dick  stiffened  in  his  seat.  Thorne,  with  sudden 
clenching  of  hands,  wheeled  toward  the  window, 

"Rojas !"  he  whispered 


II 

MERCEDES  CASTANEDA 

THE  dark  face  vanished.  Dick  Gale  heard  footsteps 
and  the  tinkle  of  spurs.  He  strode  to  the  window, 
and  was  in  time  to  see  a  Mexican  swagger  into  the  front 
door  of  the  saloon.  Dick  had  only  a  glimpse;  but  in 
that  he  saw  a  huge  black  sombrero  with  a  gaudy  band, 
the  back  of  a  short,  tight-fitting  jacket,  a  heavy  pearl- 
handled  gun  swinging  with  a  fringe  of  sash,  and  close- 
fitting  trousers  spreading  wide  at  the  bottom.  There 
were  men  passing  in  the  street,  also  several  Mexicans 
lounging  against  the  hitching-rail  at  the  curb. 

"Did  you  see  him?  Where  did  he  go?"  whispered 
Thorne,  as  he  joined  Gale.  "Those  Greasers  out  there 
with  the  cartridge  belts  crossed  over  their  breasts — they 
are  rebels." 

"I  think  he  went  into  the  saloon,"  replied  Dick.  "He 
had  a  gun,  but  for  all  I  can  see  the  Greasers  out  there  are 
unarmed." 

"Never  believe  it!  There!  Look,  Dick!  That  fel 
low's  a  guard,  though  he  seems  so  unconcerned.  See,  he 
has  a  short  carbine,  almost  concealed. ...  There's  another 
Greaser  farther  down  the  path.  I'm  afraid  Rojas  has  the 
house  spotted." 

"If  we  could  only  be  sure." 

"I'm  sure,  Dick.  Let's  cross  the  hall;  I  want  to  see 
how  it  looks  from  the  other  side  of  the  house." 

Gale  followed  Thorne  out  of  the  restaurant  into  the 
high-ceiled  corridor  which  evidently  divided  the  hotel, 
opening  into  the  street  and  running  back  to  a  patio  A 

34 


MERCEDES    CASTANEDA 

few  dim,  yellow  lamps  flickered.  A  Mexican  with  a 
blanket  round  his  shoulders  stood  in  the  front  entrance. 
Back  toward  the  patio  there  were  sounds  of  boots  on  the 
stone  floor.  Shadows  flitted  across  that  end  of  the  cor 
ridor.  Thorne  entered  a  huge  chamber  which  was  even 
more  poorly  lighted  than  the  hall.  It  contained  a  table 
littered  with  papers,  a  few  high-backed  chairs,  a  couple 
of  couches,  and  was  evidently  a  parlor. 

"Mercedes  has  been  meeting  me  here,"  said  Thorne. 
?*At  this  hour  she  comes  every  moment  or  so  to  the  head 
of  the  stairs  there,  and  if  I  am  here  she  comes  down. 
Mostly  there  are  people  in  this  room  a  little  later.  We 
go  out  into  the  plaza.  It  faces  the  dark  side  of  the  house, 
and  that's  the  place  I  must  slip  out  with  her  if  there's 
any  chance  at  all  to  get  away." 

They  peered  out  of  the  open  window.  The  plaza  was 
gloomy,  and  at  first  glance  apparently  deserted.  In  a 
moment,  however,  Gale  made  out  a  slow-pacing  dark  form 
on  the  path.  Farther  down  there  was  another.  No 
particular  keenness  was  required  to  see  in  these  forms  a 
sentinel-like  stealthiness. 

Gripping  Gale's  arm,  Thorne  pulled  back  from  the  win 
dow. 

"You  saw  them,"  he  whispered.  "It's  just  as  I  feared. 
Rojas  has  the  place  surrounded.  I  should  have  taken 
Mercedes  away.  But  I  had  no  time — no  chance!  I'm 
bound ! . . .  .There's  Mercedes  now !  My  God ! . . . . Dick, 
think — think  if  there's  a  way  to  get  her  out  of  this 
trap!" 

Gale  turned  as  his  friend  went  down  the  room.  In 
the  dim  light  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  stood  the  slim, 
muffled  figure  of  a  woman.  When  she  saw  Thorne  she 
flew  noiselessly  down  the  stairway  to  him.  He  caught 
her  in  his  arms.  Then  she  spoke  softly,  brokenly,  in  a 
low,  swift  voice.  It  was  a  mingling  of  incoherent  Spanish 
and  English ;  but  to  Gale  it  was  mellow,  deep,  unutterably 
tender,  a  voice  full  of  joy,  fear,  passion,  hope,  and  love. 

35 


DESERT    GOLD 

Upon  Gale  it  had  an  unaccountable  effect.  He  found 
himself  thrilling,  wondering. 

Thorne  led  the  girl  to  the  center  of  the  room,  under  the 
light  where  Gale  stood.  She  had  raised  a  white  hand, 
holding  a  black-lace  mantilla  half  aside.  Dick  saw  a  small, 
dark  head,  proudly  held,  an  oval  face  half  hidden,  white 
as  a  flower,  and  magnificent  black  eyes< 

Then  Thorne  spoke. 

"Mercedes — Dick  Gale,  an  old  friend — the  best  friend 
I  ever  had." 

She  swept  the  mantilla  back  over  her  head,  disclosing 
a  lovely  face,  strange  and  striking  to  Gale  in  its  pride 
and  fire,  its  intensity. 

"Senor  Gale — ah!  I  cannot  speak  my  happiness. 
His  friend !" 

"Yes,  Mercedes;  my  friend  and  yours,"  said  Thorne, 
speaking  rapidly.  "We'll  have  need  of  him.  Dear, 
there's  bad  news  and  no  time  to  break  it  gently.  The 
priest  did  not  come.  He  must  have  been  detained. 
And  listen — be  brave,  dear  Mercedes — Rojas  is  here!" 

She  uttered  an  inarticulate  cry,  the  poignant  terror  of 
which  shook  Gale's  nerve,  and  swayed  as  if  she  would 
faint.  Thorne  caught  her,  and  in  husky  voice  impor 
tuned  her  to  bear  up. 

"My  darling!  For  God's  sake  don't  faint — don't  go 
to  pieces !  We'd  be  lost !  We've  got  a  chance.  We'll 
think  of  something.  Be  strong!  Fight!" 

It  was  plain  to  Gale  that  Thorne  was  distracted.  He 
scarcely  knew  what  he  was  saying.  Pale  and  shaking,  he 
clasped  Mercedes  to  him.  Her  terror  had  struck  him 
helpless.  It  was  so  intense — it  was  so  full  of  horrible 
certainty  of  what  fate  awaited  her. 

She  cried  out  in  Spanish,  beseeching  him;  and  as  he 
shook  his  head,  she  changed  to  English: 

"Senor,  my  lover,  I  will  be  strong — I  will  fight — I 
will  obey.  But  swear  by  my  Virgin,  if  need  be  to  save 
me  from  Rojas — you  will  kill  me !" 


MERCEDES    CASTANEDA 

"Mercedes !  Yes,  I'll  swear,"  he  replied,  hoarsely.  "I 
know — I'd  rather  have  you  dead  than —  But  don't  give 
up.  Rojas  can't  be  sure  of  you,  or  he  wouldn't  wait. 
He's  in  there.  He's  got  his  men  there — all  round  us. 
But  he  hesitates.  A  beast  like  Rojas  doesn't  stand  idle 
for  nothing.  I  tell  you  we've  a  chance.  Dick,  here,  will 
think  of  something.  We'll  slip  away.  Then  he'll  take 
you  somewhere.  Only — speak  to  him — show  him  you 
won't  weaken,  Mercedes,  this  is  more  than  love  and 
happiness  for  us.  It's  life  or  death." 

She  became  quiet,  and  slowly  recovered  control  of  her 
self. 

Suddenly  she  wheeled  to  face  Gale  with  proud  dark 
eyes,  tragic  sweetness  of  appeal,  an  exquisite  grace. 

"Sefior,  you  are  an  American.  You  cannot  know  the 
Spanish  blood — the  peon  bandit's  hate  and  cruelty.  I 
wish  to  die  before  Rojas's  hand  touches  me.  If  he  takes 
me  alive,  then  the  hour,  the  little  day  that  my  life  lasts 
afterward  will  be  torture — torture  of  hell.  If  I  live  two 
days  his  brutal  men  will  have  me.  If  I  live  three,  the 
dogs  of  his  camp ....  Sefior,  have  you  a  sister  whom  you 
love?  Help  Sefior  Thorne  to  save  me.  He  is  a  soldier. 
He  is  bound.  He  must  not  betray  his  honor,  his  duty, 
for  me ....  Ah,  you  two  splendid  Americans — so  big,  so 
strong,  so  fierce!  What  is  that  little  black  half-breed 
slave  Rojas  to  such  men?  Rojas  is  a  coward.  Now,  let 
me  waste  no  more  precious  time.  I  am  ready.  I  will 
be  brave." 

She  came  close  to  Gale,  holding  out  her  white  hands,  a 
woman  all  fire  and  soul  and  passion.  To  Gale  she  was 
wonderful.  His  heart  leaped.  As  he  bent  over  her 
hands  and  kissed  them  he  seemed  to  feel  himself  renewed, 
remade. 

"Senorita,"  he  said,  "I  am  happy  to  be  your  servant. 
I  can  conceive  of  no  greater  pleasure  than  giving  the 
service  you  require." 

"And  what  is  that?"  inquired  Thorne,  hurriedly. 


DESERT   GOLD 

"That  of  incapacitating  Senor  Rojas  for  to-night,  and 
perhaps  several  nights  to  come,"  replied  Gale. 

"Dick,  what  will  you  do?"  asked  Thorne,  now  in 
alarm. 

'"Til  make  a  row  in  that  saloon,"  returned  Dick,  blunt 
ly.  "I'll  start  something.  I'll  rush  Rojas  and  his 
crowd.  I'll— " 

"Lord,  no;  you  mustn't,  Dick — you'll  be  knifed '."cried 
Thorsie.  He  was  in  distress,  yet  his  eyes  were  shining. 

"I'll  take  a  chance.  Maybe  I  can  surprise  that  slow 
Greaser  bunch  and  get  away  before  they  know  what's 

happened You  be  ready  watching  at  the  window. 

When  the  row  starts  those  fellows  out  there  in  the  plaza 
will  run  into  the  saloon.  Then  you  slip  out,  go  straight 
through  the  plaza  down  the  street.  It's  a  dark  street,  I 
remember.  I'll  catch  up  with  you  before  you  get  far." 

Thorne  gasped,  but  did  not  say  a  word.  Mercedes 
leaned  against  him,  her  white  hands  now  at  her  breast, 
her  great  eyes  watching  Gale  as  he  went  out. 

In  the  corridor  Gale  stopped  long  enough  to  pull  on  a 
pair  of  heavy  gloves,  to  muss  his  hair,  and  disarrange  his 
collar.  Then  he  stepped  into  the  restaurant,  went  through, 
and  halted  in  the  door  leading  into  the  saloon.  His  five 
feet  eleven  inches  and  one  hundred  and  eighty  pounds 
were  more  noticeable  there,  and  it  was  part  of  his  plan 
to  attract  attention  to  himself.  No  one,  however,  ap 
peared  to  notice  him.  The  pool-players  were  noisily  in 
tent  on  their  game,  the  same  crowd  of  motley-robed 
Mexicans  hung  over  the  reeking  bar.  Gale's  roving  glance 
soon  fixed  upon  the  man  he  took  to  be  Rojas.  He  recog 
nized  the  huge,  high-peaked,  black  sombrero  with  its 
ornamented  band.  The  Mexican's  face  was  turned  aside, 
He  was  in  earnest,  excited  colloquy  with  a  dozen  or  more 
comrades,  most  of  whom  were  sitting  round  a  table. 
They  were  listening,  talking,  drinking.  The  fact  that 
they  wore  cartridge  belts  crossed  over  their  breasts  satis 
fied  Gale  that  these  were  the  rebels.  He  had  noted  the 

38 


MERCEDES    CASTA^EDA 

belts  of  the  Mexicans  outside,  who  were  apparently 
guards.  A  waiter  brought  more  drinks  to  this  group  at 
the  table,  and  this  caused  the  leader  to  turn  so  Gale  could 
see  his  face.  It  was  indeed  the  sinister,  sneering  face  of 
the  bandit  Rojas.  Gale  gazed  at  the  man  with  curiosity, 
He  was  under  medium  height,  and  striking  in  appearance 
only  because  of  his  dandified  dress  and  evil  visage.  He 
wore  a  lace  scarf,  a  tight,  bright-buttoned  jacket,  a  buck 
skin  vest  embroidered  in  red,  a  sash  and  belt  joined  by  an 
enormous  silver  clasp.  Gale  saw  again  the  pearl-handled 
gun  swinging  at  the  bandit's  hip.  Jewels  flashed  in  his 
scarf.  There  were  gold  rings  in  his  ears  and  diamonds 
on  his  fingers. 

Gale  became  conscious  of  an  inward  fire  that  threat 
ened  to  overrun  his  coolness.  Other  emotions  harried 
his  self-control.  It  seemed  as  if  sight  of  the  man  liberated 
or  created  a  devil  in  Gale.  And  at  the  bottom  of  his  feel 
ings  there  seemed  to  be  a  wonder  at  himself,  a  strange 
satisfaction  for  the  something  that  had  come  to  him. 

He  stepped  out  of  the  doorway,  down  the  couple  of 
steps  to  the  floor  of  the  saloon,  and  he  staggered  a  little, 
simulating  drunkenness.  He  fell  over  the  pool  tables, 
jostled  Mexicans  at  the  bar,  laughed  like  a  maudlin  fool, 
and,  with  his  hat  slouched  down,  crowded  here  and  there. 
Presently  his  eye  caught  sight  of  the  group  of  cowboys 
whom  he  had  before  noticed  with  such  interest. 

They  were  still  in  a  corner  somewhat  isolated.  With 
fertile  mind  working,  Gale  lurched  over  to  them.  He 
remembered  his  many  unsuccessful  attempts  to  get  ac 
quainted  with  cowboys.  If  he  were  to  get  any  help  from 
these  silent  aloof  rangers  it  must  be  by  striking  fire  from 
them  in  one  swift  stroke.  Planting  himself  squarely  be 
fore  the  two  tall  cowboys  who  were  standing,  he  looked 
straight  into  their  lean,  bronzed  faces.  He  spared  a  full 
moment  for  that  keen,  cool  gaze  before  he  spoke. 

"I'm  not  drunk.  I'm  throwing  a  bluff,  and  I  mean  to 
start  a  rough  house.  I'm  going  to  rush  that  damned 

39 


DESERT    GOLD 

bandit  Rojas.  It's  to  save  a  girl — to  give  her  lover, 
who  is  my  friend,  a  chance  to  escape  with  her.  She's  in 
the  house.  Rojas  is  here  to  get  her.  When  I  start  a 
row  my  friend  will  try  to  slip  out  with  her.  Every  door 
and  window  is  watched.  I've  got  to  raise  hell  to  draw 

the  guards  in Well,  you're  my  countrymen.  We're 

in  Mexico.  A  beautiful  girl's  honor  and  life  are  at  stake. 
Now,  gentlemen,  watch  me !" 

One  cowboy's  eyes  narrowed,  blinking  a  little,  and  his 
lean  jaw  dropped;  the  other's  hard  face  rippled  with  a 
fleeting  smile. 

Gale  backed  away,  and  his  pulse  leaped  when  he  saw 
the  two  cowboys,  as  if  with  one  purpose,  slowly  stride 
after  him.  Then  Gale  swerved,  staggering  along,  brushed 
against  the  tables,  kicked  over  the  empty  chairs.  He 
passed  Rojas  and  his  gang,  and  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye 
saw  that  the  bandit  was  watching  him,  waving  his  hands 
and  talking  fiercely.  The  hum  of  the  many  voices  grew 
louder,  and  when  Dick  lurched  against  a  table,  over 
turning  it  and  spilling  glasses  into  the  laps  of  several 
Mexicans,  there  arose  a  shrill  cry.  He  had  succeeded 
in  attracting  attention;  almost  every  face  turned  hi? 
way.  One  of  the  insulted  men,  a  little  tawny  fellow, 
leaped  up  to  confront  Gale,  and  in  a  frenzy  screamed  a 
volley  of  Spanish,  of  which  Gale  distinguished  "Gringo !" 
The  Mexican  stamped  and  made  a  threatening  move  with 
his  right  hand.  Dick  swung  his  leg  and  with  a  swift 
side  kick  knocked  the  fellow's  feet  from  under  him, 
whirling  him  down  with  a  thud. 

The  action  was  performed  so  suddenly,  so  adroitly,  it 
made  the  Mexican  such  a  weakling,  so  like  a  tumbled 
tenpin,  that  the  shrill  jabbering  hushed.  Gale  knew 
this  to  be  the  significant  moment. 

Wheeling,  he  rushed  at  Rojas.  It  was  his  old  line- 
breaking  plunge.  Neither  Rojas  nor  his  men  had  time 
to  move.  The  black-skinned  bandit's  face  turned  a  dirty 
white ;  his  jaw  dropped ;  he  would  have  shrieked  if  Gale 

40 


MERCEDES    CASTANEDA 

had  not  hit  him.  The  blow  swept  him  backward  against 
his  men.  Then  Gale's  heavy  body,  swiftly  following 
with  the  momentum  of  that  rush,  struck  the  little  group 
of  rebels.  They  went  down  with  table  and  chairs  in  a 
sliding  crash. 

Gale,  carried  by  his  plunge,  went  with  them.  Like 
a  cat  he  landed  on  top.  As  he  rose  his  powerful  hands 
fastened  on  Rojas.  He  jerked  the  little  bandit  off  the 
tangled  pile  of  struggling,  yelling  men,  and,  swinging  him 
with  terrific  force,  let  go  his  hold.  Rojas  slid  along  the 
floor,  knocking  over  tables  and  chairs.  Gale  bounded 
back,  dragged  Rojas  up,  handling  him  as  if  he  were  a 
limp  sack. 

A  shot  rang  out  above  the  yells.  Gale  heard  the 
jingle  of  breaking  glass.  The  room  darkened  perceptibly. 
He  flashed  a  glance  backward.  The  two  cowboys  were 
between  him  and  the  crowd  of  frantic  rebels.  One  cow 
boy  held  two  guns  low  down,  level  in  front  of  him.  The 
other  had  his  gun  raised  and  aimed.  On  the  instant  it 
spouted  red  and  white.  With  the  crack  came  the  crash 
ing  of  glass,  another  darkening  shade  over  the  room. 
With  a  cry  Gale  slung  the  bleeding  Rojas  from  him. 
The  bandit  struck  a  table,  toppled  over  it,  fell,  and  Zay 
prone. 

Another  shot  made  the  room  full  of  moving  shadows, 
with  light  only  back  of  the  bar.  A  white-clad  figure 
rushed  at  Gale.  He  tripped  the  man,  but  had  to  kick 
hard  to  disengage  himself  from  grasping  hands.  Another 
figure  closed  in  on  Gale.  This  one  was  dark,  swift.  A 
blade  glinted — described  a  circle  aloft.  Simultaneously 
with  a  close,  red  flash  the  knife  wavered ;  the  man  wield 
ing  it  stumbled  backward.  In  the  din  Gale  did  not  hear 
a  report,  but  the  Mexican's  fall  was  significant.  Then 
pandemonium  broke  loose.  The  din  became  a  roar. 
Gale  heard  shots  that  sounded  like  dull  spats  in  the  dis 
tance.  The  big  lamp  behind  the  bar  seemingly  split, 
then  sputtered  and  went  out,  leaving  the  room  in  darkness. 

41 


DESERT    GOLD 

Gale  leaped  toward  the  restaurant  door,  which  was  out 
lined  faintly  by  the  yellow  light  within.  Right  and  left 
he  pushed  the  groping  men  who  jostled  with  him.  He 
vaulted  a  pool  table,  sent  tables  and  chairs  flying,  and 
gained  the  door,  to  be  the  first  of  a  wedging  mob  to 
squeeze  through.  One  sweep  of  his  arm  knocked  the  res 
taurant  lamp  from  its  stand;  and  he  ran  out,  leaving  dark 
ness  behind  him.  A  few  bounds  took  him  into  the  parlor. 
It  was  deserted.  Thorne  had  gotten  away  with  Mercedes! 

It  was  then  Gale  slowed  up.  For  the  space  of  perhaps 
sixty  seconds  he  had  been  moving  with  startling  velocity. 
He  peered  cautiously  out  into  the  plaza.  The  paths,  the 
benches,  the  shady  places  under  the  trees  contained  no 
skulking  men.  He  ran  out,  keeping  to  the  shade,  and 
did  not  go  into  the  path  till  he  was  halfway  through 
the  plaza.  Under  a  street  lamp  at  the  far  end  of  the  path 
he  thought  he  saw  two  dark  figures.  He  ran  faster,  and 
soon  reached  the  street.  The  uproar  back  in  the  hotel 
began  to  diminish,  or  else  he  was  getting  out  of  hearing. 
The  few  people  he  saw  close  at  hand  were  all  coming  his 
way,  and  only  the  foremost  showed  any  excitement. 
Gale  walked  swiftly,  peering  ahead  for  two  figures.  Pres 
ently  he  saw  them — one  tall,  wearing  a  cape;  the  other 
slight,  mantled.  Gale  drew  a  sharp  breath  of  relief. 
Thorne  and  Mercedes  were  not  far  ahead. 

From  time  to  time  Thorne  looked  back.  He  strode 
swiftly,  almost  carrying  Mercedes,  who  clung  closely  to 
him.  She,  too,  looked  back.  Once  Gale  saw  her  white 
face  flash  in  the  light  of  a  street  lamp.  He  began  to  over 
haul  them ;  and  soon,  when  the  last  lamp  had  been  passed 
and  the  street  was  dark,  he  ventured  a  whistle.  Thorne 
heard  it,  for  he  turned,  whistled  a  low  reply,  and  went 
on.  Not  for  some  distance  beyond,  where  the  street 
ended  in  open  country,  did  they  halt  to  wait.  The  desert 
began  here.  Gale  felt  the  soft  sand  under  his  feet  and 
saw  the  grotesque  forms  of  cactus.  Then  he  came  up 
with  the  fugitives. 

42 


MERCEDES    CASTANEDA 

"Dick !  Are  you — all  right  ?"  panted  Thorne,  grasping 
Gale. 

"I'm— out  of  breath— but— O.  K.,"  replied  Gale. 

"Good!  Good!"  choked  Thorne.  "I  was  scared — 

helpless Dick,  it  worked  splendidly.  We  had  no 

trouble.  What  on  earth  did  you  do  ?" 

"I  made  the  row,  all  right,"  said  Dick. 

"Good  Heavens !  It  was  like  a  row  I  once  heard  made 
by  a  mob.  But  the  shots,  Dick — were  they  at  you? 
They  paralyzed  me.  Then  the  yells.  What  happened? 
Those  guards  of  Rojas  ran  round  in  front  at  the  first 
shot.  Tell  me  what  happened." 

"While  I  was  rushing  Rojas  a  couple  of  cowboys  shot 
out  the  lamplights.  A  Mexican  who  pulled  a  knife  on 
me  got  hurt,  I  guess.  Then  I  think  there  was  some 
shooting  from  the  rebels  after  the  room  was  dark." 

"Rushing  Rojas?"  queried  Thorne,  leaning  close  to 
Dick.  His  voice  was  thrilling,  exultant,  deep  with  a  joy 
that  yet  needed  confirmation.  "What  did  you  do  to 
him?" 

"T  handed  him  one  off  side,  tackled,  then  tried  a  for- 
w  /d  pass,"  replied  Dick,  lightly  speaking  the  football 
vernacular  so  familiar  to  Thorne. 

Thorne  leaned  closer,  his  fine  face  showing  fierce  and 
corded  in  the  starlight.  "Tell  me  straight,"  he  demanded, 
in  thick  voice. 

Gale  then  divined  something  of  the  suffering  Thorne 
had  undergone — something  of  the  hot,  wild,  vengeful 
passion  of  a  lover  who  must  have  brutal  truth. 

It  stilled  Dick's  lighter  mood,  and  he  was  about  to 
reply  when  Mercedes  pressed  close  to  him,  touched  his 
hands,  looked  up  into  his  face  with  wonderful  eyes.  He 
thought  he  would  not  soon  forget  their  beauty — the  shad 
ow  of  pain  that  had  been,  the  hope  dawning  so  f  ugitively. 

"Dear  lady,"  said  Gale,  with  voice  not  wholly  steady^ 
"Rojas  himself  will  hound  you  no  more  to-night,  nor  for 
many  nights." 

43 


DESERT    GOLD 

She  seemed  to  shake,  to  thrill,  to  rise  with  the  in 
telligence.  She  pressed  his  hand  close  over  her  heaving 
breast.  Gale  felt  the  quick  throb  of  her  heart. 

"Senor!  Sefior  Dick!"  she  cried.  Then  her  voice 
failed.  But  her  hands  flew  up ;  quick  as  a  flash  she  raised 
her  face — kissed  him.  Then  she  turned  and  with  a  sob 
fell  into  Thome's  arms. 

There  ensued  a  silence  broken  only  by  Mercedes's  sob 
bing.  Gale  walked  some  paces  away.  If  he  were  not 
stunned,  he  certainly  was  agitated.  The  strange,  sweet 
fire  of  that  girl's  lips  remained  with  him.  On  the  spur 
of  the  moment  he  imagined  he  had  a  jealousy  of  Thorne. 
But  presently  this  passed.  It  was  only  that  he  had 
been  deeply  moved — stirred  to  the  depths  during  the 
last  hour — had  become  conscious  of  the  awakening  of  a 
spirit.  What  remained  with  him  now  was  the  splendid 
glow  of  gladness  that  he  had  been  of  service  to  Thorne. 
And  by  the  intensity  of  Mercedes's  abandon  of  relief  and 
gratitude  he  measured  her  agony  of  terror  and  the  fate 
he  had  spared  her. 

"Dick,  Dick,  come  here !"  called  Thorne,  softly.  "Let's 
pull  ourselves  together  now.  We've  got  a  problem  yet 
What  to  do?  Where  to  go?  How  to  get  any  place? 
We  don't  dare  risk  the  station — the  corrals  where  Mex 
icans  hire  out  horses.  We're  on  good  old  U.  S.  ground 
this  minute,  but  we're  not  out  of  danger." 

As  he  paused,  evidently  hoping  for  a  suggestion  from 
Gale,  the  silence  was  broken  by  the  clear,  ringing  peal 
of  a  bugle.  Thorne  gave  a  violent  start.  Then  he  bent 
over,  listening.  The  beautiful  notes  of  the  bugle  floated 
out  of  the  darkness,  clearer,  sharper,  faster. 

"It's  a  call,  Dick !     It's  a  call !"  he  cried. 

Gale  had  no  answer  to  make.  Mercedes  stood  as  if 
stricken.  The  bugle  call  ended.  From  a  distance  another 
faintly  pealed.  There  were  other  sounds  too  remote  to 
recognize.  Then  scattering  shots  rattled  out. 

"Dick,  the  rebels  are  fighting  somebody,"  burst  out 

44 


MERCEDES    CASTANEDA 

Thorne,  excitedly.  "The  little  federal  garrison  still  holds 
its  stand.  Perhaps  it  is  attacked  again.  Anyway,  there's 
something  doing  over  the  line.  Maybe  the  crazy  Greasers 
are  firing  on  our  camp.  We've  feared  it — in  the  dark.. . . 
And  here  I  am,  away  without  leave — practically  a  de 
serter  !" 

"Go  back!  Go  back,  before  you're  too  late!"  cried 
Mercedes. 

"Better  make  tracks,  Thorne,"  added  Gale.  "It 
can't  help  our  predicament  for  you  to  be  arrested.  Ill 
take  care  of  Mercedes." 

"No,  no,  no,"  replied  Thorne.  "I  can  get  away — 
avoid  arrest." 

"That'd  be  all  right  for  the  immediate  present.  But 
it's  not  best  for  the  future.  George,  a  deserter  is  a  de 
serter  ! . . . .  Better  hurry.  Leave  the  girl  to  me  till  to 
morrow." 

Mercedes  embraced  her  lover,  begged  him  to  go. 
Thorne  wavered. 

"Dick,  I'm  up  against  it,"  he  said.  "You're  right.  If 
only  I  can  run  back  in  time.  But,  oh,  I  hate  to  leave  her ! 
Old  fellow,  you've  saved  her!  I  already  owe  you  ever 
lasting  gratitude.  Keep  out  of  Casita,  Dick  The  U.  S. 
side  might  be  safe,  but  I'm  afraid  to  trust  it  at  night. 
Go  out  in  the  desert,  up  in  the  mountains,  in  some  safe 
place.  Then  come  to  me  in  camjx  We'll  plan.  I'll 
have  to  confide  in  Colonel  Weede.  Maybe  he'll  help  us. 
Hide  her  from  the  rebels— that's  all." 

He  wrung  Dick's  hand,  clasped  Mercedes  tightly  in  his 
arms,  kissed  her,  and  murmured  low  over  her,  then  re 
leased  her  to  rush  off  into  the  darkness.  He  disappeared 
in  the  gloom.  The  sound  of  his  dull  footfalls  gradually 
died  away. 

For  a  moment  the  desert  silence  oppressed  Gale.  He 
was  unaccustomed  to  such  strange  stillness.  There  was 
a  low  stir  of  sand,  a  rustle  of  stiff  leaves  in  the  wind. 
How  white  the  stars  burned!  Then  a  coyote  barked,  to 

45 


DESERT    GOLD 

be  bayed  by  a  dog.  Gale  realized  that  he  was  between 
the  edge  of  an  unknown  desert  and  the  edge  of  a  hostile 
town.  He  had  to  choose  the  desert,  because,  though  he 
had  no  doubt  that  in  Casita  there  were  many  Americans 
who  might  befriend  him,  he  could  not  chance  the  risks 
of  seeking  them  at  night. 

He  felt  a  slight  touch  on  his  arm,  felt  it  move  down, 
felt  Mercedes  slip  a  trembling  cold  little  hand  into  his. 
Dick  looked  at  her.  She  seemed  a  white-faced  girl  now, 
with  staring,  frightened  black  eyes  that  flashed  up  at 
him.  If  the  loneliness,  the  silence,  the  desert,  the  un 
known  dangers  of  the  night  affected  him,  what  must  they 
be  to  this  hunted,  driven  girl  ?  Gale's  heart  swelled.  He 
was  alone  with  her.  He  had  no  weapon,  no  money,  no 
food,  no  drink,  no  covering,  nothing  except  his  two  hands. 
He  had  absolutely  no  knowledge  of  the  desert,  of  the 
direction  or  whereabouts  of  the  boundary  line  between 
the  republics ;  he  did  not  know  where  to  find  the  railroad, 
or  any  road  or  trail,  or  whether  or  not  there  were  towns 
near  or  far.  It  was  a  critical,  desperate  situation.  He 
thought  first  of  the  girl,  and  groaned  in  spirit,  prayed 
that  it  would  be  given  him  to  save  her.  When  he  remem 
bered  himself  it  was  with  the  stunning  consciousness  that 
he  could  conceive  of  no  situation  which  he  would  have  ex 
changed  for  this  one — where  fortune  had  set  him  a  peril 
ous  task  of  loyalty  to  a  friend,  to  a  helpless  girl. 

"Seno>rt,  senor !"  suddenly  whispered  Mercedes,  clinging 
to  him.  "* Listen!  I  hear  horses  coming!" 


Ill 

A  FLIGHT  INTO  THE  DESERT 

UNEASY  and  startled,  Gale  listened  and,  hearing 
nothing,  wondered  if  Mercedes's  fears  had  not 
worked  upon  her  imagination.  He  felt  a  trembling  seize 
her,  and  he  held  her  hands  tightly. 

"You  were  mistaken,  I  guess,"  he  whispered. 

"No,  no,  senor." 

Dick  turned  his  ear  to  the  soft  wind.  Presently  he 
heard,  or  imagined  he  heard,  low  beats.  Like  the  first 
faint,  far-off  beats  of  a  drumming  grouse,  they  recalled 
to  him  the  Illinois  forests  of  his  boyhood.  In  a  moment 
he  was  certain  the  sounds  were  the  padlike  steps  of  hoofs 
in  yielding  sand.  The  regular  tramp  was  not  that  of 
grazing  horses. 

On  the  instant,  made  cautious  and  stealthy  by  alarm, 
Gale  drew  Mercedes  deeper  into  the  gloom  of  the  shrub 
bery.  Sharp  pricks  from  thorns  warned  him  that  he  was 
pressing  into  a  cactus  growth,  and  he  protected  Mercedes 
as  best  he  could.  She  was  shaking  as  one  with  a  severe 
chill.  She  breathed  with  little  hurried  pants  and  leaned 
upon  him  almost  in  collapse.  Gale  ground  his  teeth  in 
helpless  rage  at  the  girl's  fate.  If  she  had  not  been  beau 
tiful  she  might  still  have  been  free  and  happy  in  her  home. 
What  a  strange  world  to  live  in — how  unfair  was  fate ! 

The  sounds  of  hoofbeats  grew  louder.  Gale  made  out 
a  dark  moving  mass  against  a  background  of  dull  gray. 
There  was  a  line  of  horses.  He  could  not  discern  whether 
or  not  all  the  horses  carried  riders.  The  murmur  of  a 
struck  his  ear — then  a  low  laugh.  It  made  him 

47 


DESERT    GOLD 

tingle,  for  it  sounded  American.  Eagerly  he  listened. 
There  was  an  interval  when  only  the  hoofbeats  could 
be  heard. 

"It  shore  was,  Laddy,  it  shore  was,"  came  a  voice  out 
of  the  darkness.  "Rough  house!  Laddy,  since  wire 
fences  drove  us  out  of  Texas  we  ain't  seen  the  like  of  that. 
An*  we  never  had  such  a  call." 

"Call?  It  was  a  burnin'  roast,"  replied  another  voice. 
"I  felt  low  down.  He  vamoosed  some  sudden,  an*  I 
hope  he  an'  his  friends  shoqk  the  dust  of  Casita.  That's 
a  rotten  town,  Jim." 

Gale  jumped  up  in  joy.  What  luck!  The  speakers 
were  none  other  than  the  two  cowboys  whom  he  had 
accosted  in  the  Mexican  hotel. 

"Hold  on,  fellows,"  he  called  out,  and  strode  into  the 
road. 

The  horses  snorted  and  stamped.  Then  followed  swift 
rustling  sounds — a  clinking  of  spurs,  then  silence.  The 
figures  loomed  clearer  in  the  gloom.  Gale  saw  five  or  six 
horses,  two  with  riders,  and  one  other,  at  least,  carrying 
a  pack.  When  Gale  got  within  fifteen  feet  of  the  group 
the  foremost  horseman  said: 

"I  reckon  that's  close  enough,  stranger." 

Something  in  the  cowboy's  hand  glinted  darkly  bright 
in  the  starlight. 

"You'd  recognize  me,  if  it  wasn't  so  dark,"  replied 
Gale,  halting.  "I  spoke  to  you  a  little  while  ago — in  the 
saloon  back  there." 

"Come  over  an'  let's  see  you,"  said  the  cowboy, 
curtly. 

Gale  advanced  till  he  was  close  to  the  horse.  The 
cowboy  leaned  over  the  saddle  and  peered  into  Gale's 
face.  Then,  without  a  word,  be  sheathed  the  gun  and 
held  out  his  hand.  Gale  met  a  grip  of  steel  that  warmed 
his  blood.  The  other  cowboy  got  off  his  nervous,  spirited 
horse  and  threw  the  bridle.  He,  too,  peered  closely  into 
Gale's  face. 


A    FLIGHT    INTO    THE    DESERT 

"My  name's  Ladd,"  he  said.  "Reckon  I'm  some  glad 
to  meet  you  again." 

Gale  felt  another  grip  as  hard  and  strong  as  the  other 
had  been.  He  realized  he  had  found  friends  who  be 
longed  to  a  class  of  men  whom  he  had  despaired  of  ever 
knowing. 

"Gale — Dick  Gale  is  my  name,"  he  began,  swiftly. 
"I  dropped  into  Casita  to-night  hardly  knowing  where  I 
was.  A  boy  took  me  to  that  hotel.  There  I  met  an  old 
friend  whom  I  had  not  seen  for  years.  He  belongs  to  the 
cavalry  stationed  here.  He  had  befriended  a  Spanish 
girl — fallen  in  love  with  her.  Rojas  had  killed  this  girl's 

father — tried  to  abduct  her You  know  what  took 

place  at  the  hotel.  Gentlemen,  if  it's  ever  possible,  I'll 
show  you  how  I  appreciate  what  you  did  for  me  there. 
I  got  away,  found  my  friend  with  the  girl.  We  hurried 
out  here  beyond  the  edge  of  the  town.  Then  Thorne  had 
to  make  a  break  for  camp.  We  heard  bugle  calls,  shots, 
attd  he  was  away  without  leave.  That  left  the  girl  with 
me.  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  Thorne  swears  Casit? 
is  no  place  for  Mercedes  at  night." 

"The  girl  ain't  no  peon,  no  common  Greaser?"  inter 
rupted  Ladd. 

"No.  Her  name  is  Castaneda.  She  belongs  to  an  old 
Spanish  family,  once  rich  and  influential." 

"Reckoned  as  much,"  replied  the  cowboy.  "There's 
more  than  Rojas's  wantin'  to  kidnap  a  pretty  girl.  Shore 
he  does  that  every  day  or  so.  Must  be  somethin'  political 
or  feelin'  against  class.  Well,  Casita  ain't  no  place  for 
your  friend's  girl  at  night  or  day,  or  any  time,  Shore, 
there's  Americans  who'd  take  her  in  an'  fight  for  her,  if 
necessary.  But  it  ain't  wise  to  risk  that.  Lash,  what 
do  you  say?" 

"It's  been  gettin'  hotter  round  this  Greaser  corral  for 
some  weeks,"  replied  the  other  cowboy.  "If  that  two- 
bit  of  a  garrison  surrenders,  there's  no  tellin'  what  '11 
happen.  Orozco  is  headin'  west  from  Agua  Prieta  with 

49 


DESERT    GOLD 

his  guerrillas.  Campo  is  burnin'  bridges  an*  tearin*  up 
the  railroad  south  of  Nogales.  Then  there's  all  these 
bandits  callin'  themselves  revolutionists  just  for  an  excuse 
to  steal,  burn,  kill,  an'  ride  off  with  women.  It's  plain 
facts,  Laddy,  an*  bein'  across  the  U.  S.  line  a  few  inches 
or  so  don't  make  no  hell  of  a  difference.  My  advice  is, 
don't  let  Miss  Castaneda  ever  set  foot  in  Casita  again." 

"Looks  like  you've  shore  spoke  sense,"  said  Ladd. 
"I  reckon,  Gale,  you  an*  the  girl  ought  to  come  with  us. 
Casita  shore  would  be  a  little  warm  for  us  to-morrow. 
We  didn't  kill  anybody,  but  I  shot  a  Greaser's  arm  off, 
an*  Lash  strained  friendly  relations  by  destroyin*  property. 
We  know  people  who'll  take  care  of  the  senorita  till  your 
friend  can  come  for  her." 

Dick  warmly  spoke  his  gratefulness,  and,  inexpressibly 
relieved  and  happy  for  Mercedes,  he  went  toward  the 
clump  of  cactus  where  he  had  left  her.  She  stood  erect, 
waiting,  and,  dark  as  it  was,  he  could  tell  she  had  lost  the 
terror  that  had  so  shaken  her. 

"Sefior  Gale,  you  are  my  good  angel,"  she  said,  tremu 
lously. 

"I've  been  lucky  to  fall  in  with  these  men,  and  I'm 
glad  with  all  my  heart,"  he  replied.  "Come." 

He  led  her  into  the  road. up  to  the  cowboys,  who  now 
stood  bareheaded  in  the  starlight.  They  seemed  shy,  and 
Lash  was  silent  while  Ladd  made  embarrassed,  unin 
telligible  reply  to  Mercedes's  thanks. 

There  were  five  horses — two  saddled,  two  packed  and 
the  remaining  one  carried  only  a  blanket.  Ladd  short 
ened  the  stirrups  on  his  mount,  and  helped  Mercedes  up 
into  the  saddle.  From  the  way  she  settled  herself  and 
took  the  few  restive  prances  of  the  mettlesome  horse 
Gale  judged  that  she  could  ride.  Lash  urged  Gale  to 
take  his  horse.  But  this  Gale  refused  to  do. 

"I'll  walk,"  he  said  "I'm  used  to  walking.  I  know 
cowboys  are  not." 

They  tried  again  to  persuade  him,  without  avail.    Then 


A    FLIGHT    INTO    THE    DESERT 

Ladd  started  off,  riding  bareback.  Mercedes  fell  in  be* 
hind,  with  Gale  walking  beside  her.  The  two  pack  animals 
came  next,  and  Lash  brought  up  the  rear. 

Once  started  with  protection  assured  for  the  girl  and  a 
real  objective  point  in  view,  Gale  relaxed  from  the  tense 
strain  he  had  been  laboring  under.  How  glad  he  would 
have  been  to  acquaint  Thorne  with  their  good  fortune! 
Later,  of  course,  there  would  be  some  way  to  get  word 
to  the  cavalryman.  But  till  then  what  torments  his 
friend  would  suffer ! 

It  seemed  to  Dick  that  a  very  long  time  had  elapsed 
since  he  stepped  off  the  train ;  and  one  by  one  he  went  over 
every  detail  of  incident  which  had  occurred  between 
that  arrival  and  the  present  moment.  Strange  as  the 
facts  were,  he  had  no  doubts.  He  realized  that  before 
that  night  he  had  never  known  the  deeps  of  wrath  un 
disturbed  in  him ;  had  never  conceived  even  a  passing  idea 
that  it  was  possible  for  him  to  try  to  kill  a  man.  His 
right  hand  was  swollen  stiff,  so  sore  that  he  could  scarcely 
close  it.  His  knuckles  were  bruised  and  bleeding,  and 
ached  with  a  sharp  pain.  Considering  the  thickness  of 
his  heavy  glove,  Gale  was  of  the  opinion  that  so  to  bruise 
his  hand  he  must  have  struck  Rojas  a  powerful  blow. 
He  remembered  that  for  him  to  give  or  take  a  blow  had 
been  nothing.  This  blow  to  Rojas,  however,  had  been  a 
different  matter.  The  hot  wrath  which  had  been  his 
motive  was  not  puzzling;  but  the  effect  on  him  after  he 
had  cooled  off,  a  subtle  difference,  something  puzzled  and 
eluded  him.  The  more  it  baffled  him  the  more  he  pon 
dered.  All  those  wandering  months  of  his  had  been  filled 
with  dissatisfaction,  yet  he  had  been  too  apathetic  to  un 
derstand  himself.  So  he  had  not  been  much  of  a  person 
to  try.  Perhaps  it  had  not  been  the  blow  to  Rojas  any 
more  than  other  things  that  had  wrought  some  change  in 
him. 

His  meeting  with  Thorne ;  the  wonderful  black  eyes  of 
a  Spanish  girl ;  her  appeal  to  him ;  the  hate  inspired  by 


DESERT   GOLD 

Rojas,  and  the  rush,  the  blow,  the  action ;  sight  of  Thorne 
and  Mercedes  hurrying  safely  away;  the  girl's  hands 
pressing  his  to  her  heaving  breast ;  the  sweet  fire  of  her 
kiss;  the  fact  of  her  being  alone  with  him,  dependent 
upon  him — all  these  things  Gale  turned  over  and  over  in 
his  mind,  only  to  fail  of  any  definite  conclusion  as  to  which 
had  affected  him  so  remarkably,  or  to  tell  what  had 
really  happened  to  him. 

Had  he  fallen  in  love  with  Thome's  sweetheart?  The 
idea  came  in  a  flash.  Was  he,  all  in  an  instant,  and  by 
one  of  those  incomprehensible  reversals  of  character, 
jealous  of  his  friend  ?  Dick  was  almost  afraid  to  look  up 
at  Mercedes.  Still  he  forced  himself  to  do  so,  and  as  it 
chanced  Mercedes  was  looking  down  at  him.  Some 
how  the  light  was  better,  and  he  clearly  saw  her  white 
face,  her  black  and  starry  eyes,  her  perfect  mouth.  With 
a  quick,  graceful  impulsiveness  she  put  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  Like  her  appearance,  the  action  was  new. 
strange,  striking  to  Gale;  but  it  brought  home  suddenly 
to  him  the  nature  of  gratitude  and  affection  in  a  girl  of  her 
blood.  It  was  sweet  and  sisterly.  He  knew  then  that 
he  had  not  fallen  in  love  with  her.  The  feeling  that  was 
akin  to  jealousy  seemed  to  be  of  the  beautiful  something 
for  which  Mercedes  stood  in  Thome's  life.  Gale  then 
grasped  the  bewildering  possibilities,  the  infinite  wonder 
of  what  a  girl  could  mean  to  a  man. 

The  other  haunting  intimations  of  change  seemed  to  be 
elusively  blended  with  sensations — the  heat  and  thrill  of 
action,  the  sense  of  something  done  and  more  to  do,  the 
utter  vanishing  of  an  old  weary  hunt  for  he  knew  not  what. 
Maybe  it  had  been  a  hunt  for  work,  for  energy,  for  spirit, 
for  love,  for  his  real  self.  Whatever  it  might  be,  there 
appeared  to  be  now  some  hope  of  finding  it. 

The  desert  began  to  lighten.  Gray  openings  in  the 
border  of  shrubby  growths  changed  to  paler  hue.  The 
road  could  be  seen  some  rods  ahead,  and  it  had  become 
a  stony  descent  down,  steadily  down.  Dark,  ridged  backs 


A    FLIGHT    INTO    THE    DESERT 

of  mountains  bounded  the  horizon,  and  all  seemed  near 
at  hand,  hemming  in  the  plain.  In  the  east  a  white  glow 
grew  brighter  and  brighter,  reaching  up  to  a  line  of  cloud, 
defined  sharply  below  by  a  rugged  notched  range.  Pres 
ently  a  silver  circle  rose  behind  the  black  mountain,  and 
the  gloom  of  the  desert  underwent  a  transformation. 
From  a  gray  mantle  it  changed  to  a  transparent  hazec 
The  moon  was  rising. 

"Sefior,  I  am  cold,"  said  Mercedes. 

Dick  had  been  carrying  his  coat  upon  his  arm.  He  had 
felt  warm,  even  hot,  and  had  imagined  that  the  steady 
walk  had  occasioned  it.  But  his  skin  was  cool.  The 
heat  came  from  an  inward  burning.  He  stopped  the 
horse  and  raised  the  coat  up,  and  helped  Mercedes  put 
it  on. 

"I  should  have  thought  of  you,"  he  said.  "But  I 
seemed  to  feel  warm ....  The  coat's  a  little  large ;  we 
might  wrap  it  around  you  twice." 

Mercedes  smiled  and  lightly  thanked  him  in  Spanish. 
The  flash  of  mood  was  in  direct  contrast  to  the  appealing, 
passionate,  and  tragic  states  in  which  he  had  successively 
viewed  her ;  and  it  gave  him  a  vivid  impression  of  what 
vivacity  and  charm  she  might  possess  under  happy 
conditions.  He  was  about  to  start  when  he  observed  that 
Ladd  had  halted  and  was  peering  ahead  in  evident 
caution.  Mercedes's  horse  began  to  stamp  impatiently, 
raised  his  ears  and  head,  and  acted  as  if  he  was  about  to 
neigh. 

A  warning  "hist"  from  Ladd  bade  Dick  put  a  quieting 
lhand  on  the  horse.  Lash  came  noiselessly  forward  to 
join  his  companion.  The  two  then  listened  and  watched. 

An  uneasy  yet  thrilling  stir  ran  through  Gale's  veins. 
This  scene  was  not  fancy.  These  men  of  the  ranges  had 
heard  or  seen  or  scented  danger.  It  was  all  real,  as 
tangible  and  sure  as  the  touch  of  Mercedes's  hand  upon 
tiis  arm.  Probably  for  her  the  night  had  terrors  beyond 
Bale's  power  to  comprehend.  He  looked  down  into  the 

53 


DESERT   GOLD 

desert,  and  would  have  felt  no  surprise  at  anything  hidden 
away  among  the  bristling  cactus,  the  dark,  winding 
arroyos,  the  shadowed  rocks  with  their  moonlit  tips,  the 
ragged  plain  leading  to  the  black  bold  mountains.  The 
wind  appeared  to  blow  softly,  with  an  almost  impercep 
tible  moan,  over  the  desert.  That  was  a  new  sound  to 
Gale.  But  he  heard  nothing  more. 

Presently  Lash  went  to  the  rear  and  Ladd  started 
ahead.  The  progress  now,  however,  was  considerably 
slower,  not  owing  to  a  bad  road — for  that  became  better 
— but  probably  owing  to  caution  exercised  by  the  cowboy 
guide.  At  the  end  of  a  half  hour  this  marked  delibera 
tion  changed,  and  the  horses  followed  Ladd's  at  a  gait 
that  put  Gale  to  his  best  walking-paces. 

Meanwhile  the  moon  soared  high  above  the  black 
corrugated  peaks.  The  gray,  the  gloom,  the  shadow 
whitened.  The  clearing  of  the  dark  foreground  appeared 
to  lift  a  distant  veil  and  show  endless  aisles  of  desert 
reaching  down  between  dim  horizon-bounding  ranges. 

Gale  gazed  abroad,  knowing  that  as  this  night  was  the 
first  time  for  him  to  awake  to  consciousness  of  a  vague, 
wonderful  other  self,  so  it  was  one  wherein  he  began  to  be 
aware  of  an  encroaching  presence  of  physical  things — 
the  immensity  of  the  star-studded  sky,  the  soaring  moon, 
the  bleak,  mysterious  mountains,  and  limitless  slope,  and 
plain,  and  ridge,  and  valley.  These  things  in  all  their 
magnificence  had  not  been  unnoticed  by  him  before ;  only 
now  they  spoke  a  different  meaning.  A  voice  that  he 
had  never  heard  called  him  to  see,  to  feel  the  vast  hard 
externals  of  heaven  and  earth,  all  that  represented  the 
open,  the  free,  silence  and  solitude  and  space. 

Once  more  his  thoughts,  like  his  steps,  were  halted  by 
Ladd's  actions.  The  cowboy  reined  in  his  horse,  listened 
a  moment,  then  swung  down  out  of  the  saddle.  He 
raised  a  cautioning  hand  to  the  others,  then  slipped  into 
the  gloom  and  disappeared.  Gale  marked  that  the  halt 
had  been  made  in  a  ridged  and  cut-up  pass  between  low 

54 


A    FLIGHT    INTO    THE    DESERT 

mesas.  He  could  see  the  columns  of  cactus  standing  out 
black  against  the  moon-white  sky.  The  horses  were 
evidently  tiring,  for  they  showed  no  impatience.  Gale 
heard  their  panting  breaths,  and  also  the  bark  of  some 
animal — a  dog  or  a  coyote.  It  sounded  like  a  dog,  and  this 
led  Gale  to  wonder  if  there  was  any  house  near  at  hand. 
To  the  right,  up  under  the  ledges  some  distance  away, 
stood  two  square  black  objects,  too  uniform,  he  thought, 
to  be  rocks.  While  he  was  peering  at  them,  uncertain 
what  to  think,  the  shrill  whistle  of  a  horse  pealed  out, 
to  be  followed  by  the  rattling  of  hoofs  on  hard  stone. 
Then  a  dog  barked.  At  the  same  moment  that  Ladd 
hurriedly  appeared  in  the  road  a  light  shone  out  and  danced 
before  one  of  the  square  black  objects. 

"Keep  close  an'  don't  make  no  noise,"  he  whispered, 
and  led  his  horse  at  right  angles  off  the  road. 

Gale  followed,  leading  Mercedes's  horse.    As  he  turned 
he  observed  that  Lash  also  had  dismounted. 

To  keep  closely  at  Ladd's  heels  without  brushing  the 
cactus  or  stumbling  over  rocks  and  depressions  was  a 
task  Gale  found  impossible.  After  he  had  been  stabbed 
several  times  by  the  bayonetlike  spikes,  which  seemed 
invisible,  the  matter  of  caution  became  equally  one  of 
self-preservation.  Both  the  cowboys,  Dick  had  observed, 
wore  leather  chaps.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to  lead  a 
spirited  horse  through  the  dark,  winding  lanes  walled  by 
thorns.  Mercedes's  horse  often  balked  and  had  to  be 
coaxed  and  carefully  guided.  Dick  concluded  that  Ladd 
was  making  a  wide  detour.  The  position  of  certain 
»stars  grown  familiar  during  the  march  veered  round 
from  one  side  to  another.  Dick  saw  that  the  travel  was 
fast,  but  by  no  means  noiseless.  The  pack  animals 
at  times  crashed  and  ripped  through  the  narrow  places. 
It  seemed  to  Gale  that  any  one  within  a  mile  could  have 
heard  these  sounds.  From  the  tops  of  knolls  or  ridges 
he  looked  back,  trying  to  locate  the  mesas  where  the  light 
had  danced  and  the  dog  had  barked  alarm.  He  could 


DESERT    GOLD 

not  distinguish  these  two  rocky  eminences  from  among 
many  rising  in  the  background. 

Presently  Ladd  led  out  into  a  wider  lane  that  appeared 
to  run  straight.  The  cowboy  mounted  his  horse,  and  this 
fact  convinced  Gale  that  they  had  circled  back  to  the  road. 
The  march  proceeded  then  once  more  at  a  good,  steady, 
silent  walk.  When  Dick  consulted  his  watch  he  was 
amazed  to  see  the  hour  was  still  early.  How  much 
had  happened  in  little  time !  He  now  began  to  be  aware 
that  the  night  was  growing  colder;  and,  strange  to  him, 
he  felt  something  damp  that  in  a  country  he  knew  he 
would  have  recognized  as  dew.  He  had  not  been  aware 
there  was  dew  on  the  desert.  The  wind  blew  stronger, 
the  stars  shone  whiter,  the  sky  grew  darker,  and  the  moon 
climbed  toward  the  zenith.  The  road  stretched  level  for 
miles,  then  crossed  arroyos  and  ridges,  wound  between 
mounds  of  broken  ruined  rock,  found  a  level  again,  and 
then  began  a  long  ascent.  Dick  asked  Mercedes  if  she 
was  cold,  and  she  answered  that  she  was,  speaking  espe 
cially  of  her  feet,  which  were  growing  numb.  Then  she 
asked  to  be  helped  down  to  walk  awhile.  At  first  she 
was  cold  and  lame,  and  accepted  the  helping  hand  Dick 
proffered.  After  a  little,  however,  she  recovered  and 
went  on  without  assistance.  Dick  could  scarcely  believe 
his  eyes,  as  from  time  to  time  he  stole  a  sidelong  glance 
at  this  silent  girl,  who  walked  with  lithe  and  rapid  stride. 
She  was  wrapped  in  his  long  coat,  yet  it  did  not  hide  her 
slender  grace.  He  could  not  see  her  face,  which  was 
concealed  by  the  black  mantle. 

A  low-spoken  word  from  Ladd  recalled  Gale  to  the  ques 
tion  of  surroundings  and  of  possible  dangers.  Ladd  had 
halted  a  few  yards  ahead.  They  had  reached  the  summit 
of  what  was  evidently  a  high  ridge  which  sloped  with  much 
greater  steepness  on  the  far  side.  It  was  only  after  a  few 
more  forward  steps,  however,  that  Dick  could  see  down 
the  slope.  Then  full  in  view  flashed  a  bright  campfire 
around  which  clustered  a  group  of  dark  figures,  They 


A     FLIGHT    INTO    THE    DESERT 

were  encamped  in  a  wide  arroyo,  where  horses  could  be 
seen  grazing  in  black  patches  of  grass  between  clusters 
of  trees.  A  second  look  at  the  campers  told  Gale  they 
were  Mexicans.  At  this  moment  Lash  came  forward  to 
join  Ladd,  and  the  two  spent  a  long,  uninterrupted  mo 
ment  studying  the  arroyo.  A  hoarse  laugh,  faint  yet 
distinct,  floated  up  on  the  cool  wind. 

"Well,  Laddy,  what  'r  you  makin'  of  that  outfit?" 
inquired  Lash,  speaking  softly. 

"Same  as  any  of  them  raider  outfits,"  replied  Ladd. 
"They're  across  the  line  for  beef.  But  they'll  run  off 
any  good  stock.  As  hoss  thieves  these  rebels  have  got 
'em  all  beat.  That  outfit  is  waitin*  till  it's  late.  There's 
a  ranch  up  the  arroyo." 

Gale  heard  the  first  speaker  curse  under  his  breath. 

"Sure,  I  feel  the  same,"  said  Ladd.  "But  we've  got  a 
girl  an*  the  young  man  to  look  after,  not  to  mention  our 
pack  outfit.  An*  we're  huntin'  for  a  job,  not  a  fight,  old 
hoss.  Keep  on  your  chaps !" 

"Nothin'  to  it  but  bead  south  for  the  Rio  For 
lorn." 

"You're  talkin'  sense  now,  Jim.  I  wish  we'd  headed 
that  way  long  ago.  But  it  ainft  strange  I'd  want  to 
travel  away  from  the  border,  thinkin'  of  the  girl.  Jim, 
we  can't  go  round  this  Greaser  outfit  an'  strike  the  road 
again.  Too  rough.  So  we'll  have  to  give  up  gettin'  to 
San  Felipe." 

"Perhaps  it's  just  as  well,  Laddy.  Rio  Forlorn  is  on 
the  border  line,  but  it's  country  where  these  rebels  ain't 
been  yet." 

"Wait  till  they  learn  of  the  oasis  an'  Beldin's  bosses !" 
exclaimed  Laddy.  "I'm  not  anticipatin'  peace  any 
where  along  the  border,  Jim.  But  we  can't  go  ahead: 
we  can't  go  back." 

"What  '11  we  do,  Laddy?  It's  a  hike  to  Beldin's 
ranch.  An'  if  we  get  there  in  daylight  some  Greaser  will 
see  the  girl  before  Beldin'  can  hide  hero  It'll  get  talked 

57 


DESERT   GOLD 

about.  The  news  '11  travel  to  Casita  like  sage  balls  before 
the  wind." 

"Shore  we  won't  ride  into  Rio  Forlorn  in  the  daytime, 
Let's  slip  the  packs,  Jim.  We  can  hide  them  off  in  the 
cactus  an'  come  back  after  them.  With  the  young  man 
ridin'  we—" 

The  whispering  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  ringing  neigh 
that  whistled  up  from  the  arroyo.  One  of  the  horses  had 
scented  the  travelers  on  the  ridge  top.  The  indifference 
of  the  Mexicans  changed  to  attention. 

Ladd  and  Lash  turned  back  and  led  the  horses  into  the 
first  opening  on  the  south  side  of  the  road.  There  was 
nothing  more  said  at  the  moment,  and  manifestly  the 
cowboys  were  in  a  hurry.  Gale  had  to  run  in  the  open 
places  to  keep  up.  When  they  did  stop  it  was  welcome  to 
Gale,  for  he  had  begun  to  fall  behind. 

The  packs  were  slipped,  securely  tied  and  hidden  in  a 
mesquite  clump.  Ladd  strapped  a  blanket  around  one 
of  the  horses.  His  next  move  was  to  take  off  his  chaps. 

"Gale,  you're  wearin'  boots,  an*  by  liftin*  your  feet  you 
can  beat  the  cactus,"  he  whispered.  "But  the — the — • 
Miss  Castaneda,  she'll  be  torn  all  to  pieces  unless  she 
puts  these  on.  Please  tell  her — an'  hurry." 

Dick  took  the  chaps,  and,  going  up  to  Mercedes,  he  ex 
plained  the  situation.  She  laughed,  evidently  at  his  em 
barrassed  earnestness,  and  slipped  out  of  the  saddle. 

"Sefior,  chapparejos  and  I  are  not  strangers,"  she  said. 

Deftly  and  promptly  she  equipped  herself,  and  then 
Gale  helped  her  into  the  saddle,  called  to  her  horse,  and 
started  off.  Lash  directed  Gale  to  mount  the  other  sad 
dled  horse  and  go  next. 

Dick  had  not  ridden  a  hundred  yards  behind  the  trot 
ting  leaders  before  he  had  sundry  painful  encounters  with 
reaching  cactus  arms.  The  horse  missed  these  by  a  narrow 
margin.  Dick's  knees  appeared  to  be  in  line,  and  it  be* 
came  necessary  for  him  to  lift  them  high  and  let  his  boots 
take  the  onslaught  of  the  spikes.  He  was  at  home  in  the 

SB 


A    FLIGHT    INTO    THE    DESERT 

saddle,  and  the  accomplishment  was  about  the  only  one 
he  possessed  that  had  been  of  any  advantage  during  his 
sojourn  in  the  West. 

Ladd  pursued  a  zigzag  course  southward  across  the 
desert,  trotting  down  the  aisles,  cantering  in  wide,  bare 
patches,  walking  through  the  clumps  of  cacti.  The  desert 
seemed  all  of  a  sameness  to  Dick — a  wilderness  of  rocks 
and  jagged  growths  hemmed  in  by  lowering  ranges,  always 
looking  close,  yet  never  growing  any  nearer.  The  moon 
slanted  back  toward  the  west,  losing  its  white  radiance, 
and  the  gloom  of  the  earlier  evening  began  to  creep  into 
the  washes  and  to  darken  under  the  mesas.  By  and  by 
Ladd  entered  an  arroyo,  and  here  the  travelers  turned 
and  twisted  with  the  meanderings  of  a  dry  stream  bed. 
At  the  head  of  the  canon  they  had  to  take  once  more  to 
the  rougher  ground.  Always  it  led  down,  always  it  grew 
rougher,  more  rolling,  with  wider  bare  spaces,  always  the 
black  ranges  loomed  close. 

Gale  became  chilled  to  the  bone,  and  his  clothes  were 
damp  and  cold.  His  knees  smarted  from  the  wounds  of 
the  poisoned  thorns,  and  his  right  hand  was  either  swollen 
stiff  or  too  numb  to  move.  Moreover,  he  was  tiring.  The 
excitement,  the  long  v/alk,  the  miles  on  miles  of  jolting 
trot — these  had  wearied  him.  Mercedes  must  be  made 
of  steel,  he  thought,  to  stand  all  that  she  had  been  sub 
jected  to  and  yet,  when  the  stars  were  paling  and  dawn 
perhaps  not  far  away,  stay  in  the  saddle. 

So  Dick  Gale  rode  on,  drowsier  for  each  mile,  and  more 
and  more  giving  the  horse  a  choice  of  ground.  Sometimes 
a  prod  from  a  murderous  spine  roused  Dick.  A  grayness 
had  blotted  out  the  waning  moon  in  the  west  and  the  clear, 
dark,  starry  sky  overhead.  Once  when  Gale,  thinking 
to  fight  his  weariness,  raised  his  head,  he  saw  that  one  of 
the  horses  in  the  lead  was  riderless.  Ladd  was  carrying 
Mercedes.  Dick  marveled  that  her  collapse  had  not 
come  sooner.  Another  time,  rousing  himself  again,  he 
Imagined  they  were  now  on  a  good  hard  road. 

5P 


DESERT    GOLD 

It  seemed  that  hours  passed,  though  he  knew  only  little 
time  had  elapsed,  when  once  more  he  threw  off  the  spell 
of  weariness.  He  heard  a  dog  bark.  Tall  trees  lined  the 
open  lane  down  which  he  was  riding.  Presently  in  the 
gray  gloom  he  saw  low,  square  houses  with  flat  roofs. 
Ladd  turned  off  to  the  left  down  another  lane,  gloorm 
between  trees.  Every  few  rods  there  was  one  of  the 
squat  houses.  This  lane  opened  into  wider,  lighter  space. 
The  cold  air  bore  a  sweet  perfume — whether  of  flowers  or 
fruit  Dick  could  not  tell.  Ladd  rode  on  for  perhaps  a 
quarter  of  a  mile,  though  it  seemed  interminably  long  to 
Dick.  A  grove  of  trees  loomed  dark  in  the  gray  of  morn 
ing.  Ladd  entered  it  and  was  lost  in  the  shade.  Dick 
rode  on  among  trees.  Presently  he  heard  voices,  and  soon 
another  house,  low  and  flat  like  the  others,  but  so  long 
he  could  not  see  the  farther  end,  stood  up  blacker  than 
the  trees.  As  he  dismounted,  cramped  and  sore,  he  could 
scarcely  stand.  Lash  came  alongside.  He  spoke,  and 
some  one  with  a  big,  hearty  voice  replied  to  him.  Then 
it  seemed  to  Dick  that  he  was  led  into  blackness  like 
pitch,  where,  presently,  he  felt  blankets  thrown  on  him, 
dnd  thsn  his  drowsy  faculties  faded. 


FORLORN  RIVER 

WHEN  Dick  opened  his  eyes  a  flood  of  golden  sun* 
shine  streamed  in  at  the  open  window  under  which 
he  lay.  His  first  thought  was  one  of  blank  wonder  as  to 
where  in  the  world  he  happened  to  be.  The  room  was 
large,  square,  adobe-walled.  It  was  littered  with  saddles, 
harness,  blankets.  Upon  the  floor  was  a  bed  spread  out 
upon  a  tarpaulin.  Probably  this  was  where  some  one 
had  slept.  The  sight  of  huge  dusty  spurs,  a  gun  belt 
with  sheath  and  gun,  and  a  pair  of  leather  chaps  bristling 
with  broken  cactus  thorns  recalled  to  Dick  the  cowboys, 
the  ride,  Mercedes,  and  the  whole  strange  adventure  that 
had  brought  him  there. 

He  did  not  recollect  having  removed  his  boots ;  indeed, 
upon  second  thought,  he  knew  he  had  not  done  so.  But 
there  they  stood  upon  the  floor.  Ladd  and  Lash  must 
have  taken  them  off  when  he  was  so  exhausted  and  sleepy 
that  he  could  not  tell  what  was  happening.  He  felt  a  dead 
weight  of  complete  lassitude,  and  he  did  not  want  to 
move.  A  sudden  pain  in  his  hand  caused  him  to  hold 
it  up.  It  was  black  and  blue,  swollen  to  almost  twice 
its  normal  size,  and  stiff  as  a  board.  The  knuckles  were 
skinned  and  crusted  with  dry  blood.  Dick  soliloquized 
that  it  was  the  worst-looking  hand  he  had  seen  since 
football  days,  and  that  it  would  inconvenience  him  for 
some  time. 

A  warm,  dry,  fragrant  breeze  came  through  the  win 
dow.  Dick  caught  again  the  sweet  smell  of  flowers  or 
fruit.  He  heard  the  fluttering  of  leaves,  the  murmur  oi 

61 


DESERT   GOLD 

running  water,  the  twittering  of  birds,  then  the  sound  of 
approaching  footsteps  and  voices.  The  door  at  the  far 
end  of  the  room  was  open.  Through  it  he  saw  poles  of 
peeled  wood  upholding  a  porch  roof,  a  bench,  rose  bushes 
in  bloom,  grass,  and  beyond  these  bright-green  foliage  of 
trees. 

"He  shore  was  sleepin'  when  I  looked  in  an  hour  ago," 
said  a  voice  that  Dick  recognized  as  Ladd's. 

"Let  him  sleep,"  came  the  reply  in  deep,  good-natured 
tones.  "Mrs.  B.  says  the  girl's  never  moved.  Must 
have  been  a  tough  ride  for  them  both.  Forty  miles 
through  cactus !" 

"Young  Gale  hoofed  darn  near  half  the  way,"  replied 
Ladd.  "We  tried  to  make  him  ride  one  of  our  bosses. 
If  we  had,  we'd  never  got  here.  A  walk  like  that  'd 
killed  me  an'  Jim." 

"Well,  Laddy,  I'm  right  down  glad  to  see  you  boys, 
and  I'll  do  all  I  can  for  the  young  couple,"  said  the 
other.  "But  I'm  doing  some  worry  here;  don't  mistake 
me." 

"About  your  stock?" 

"I've  got  only  a  few  head  of  cattle  at  the  oasis  now. 
I'm  worrying  some,  mostly  about  my  horses.  The 
U.  S.  is  doing  some  worrying,  too,  don't  mistake  me. 
The  rebels  have  worked  west  and  north  as  far  as  Casita. 
There  are  no  cavalrymen  along  the  line  beyond  Casita,  • 
and  there  can't  be.  It's  practically  waterless  desert.  But 
these  rebels  are  desert  men.  They  could  cross  the  line 
beyond  the  Rio  Forlorn  and  smuggle  arms  into  Mexico. 
Of  course,  my  job  is  to  keep  tab  on  Chinese  and  Japs 
trying  to  get  into  the  U.  S.  from  Magdalena  Bay.  But 
I'm  supposed  to  patrol  the  border  line.  I'm  going  to  hire 
some  rangers.  Now,  I'm  not  so  afraid  of  being  shot  up, 
though  out  in  this  lonely  place  there's  danger  of  it ;  what 
I'm  afraid  of  most  is  losing  that  bunch  of  horses.  If  any 
rebels  come  this  far,  or  if  they  ever  hear  of  my  horses, 
they're  going  to  raid  me.  You  know  what  those  guerrilla 

62 


FORLORN   RIVER 

Mexicans  will  do  for  horses.  They're  crazy  on  horse 
flesh.  They  know  fine  horses.  They  breed  the  finest 
in  the  world.  So  I  don't  sleep  nights  any  more." 

"Reckon  me  an'  Jim  might  as  well  tie  up  with  you  for  a 
spell,  Beldin'.  We've  been  ridin'  up  an'  down  Arizona 
tryin'  to  keep  out  of  sight  of  wire  fences." 

"Laddy,  it's  open  enough  around  Forlorn  River  to 
satisfy  even  an  old-time  cowpuncher  like  you,"  laughed 
Belding.  "I'd  take  your  staying  on  as  some  favor,  don't 
mistake  me.  Perhaps  I  can  persuade  the  young  man 
Gale  to  take  a  job  with  me." 

"That's  shore  likely.  He  said  he  had  no  money,  no 
friends.  An'  if  a  scrapper's  all  you're  lookin'  for  he'll 
do,"  replied  Ladd,  with  a  dry  chuckle. 

"Mrs.  B.  will  throw  some  broncho  capers  round  this 
ranch  when  she  hears  I'm  going  to  hire  a  stranger." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  there's  Nell —  And  you  said  this  Gale  was  a 
young  American.  My  wife  will  be  scared  to  death  for 
fear  Nell  will  fall  in  love  with  him." 

Laddy  choked  off  a  laugh,  then  evidently  slapped  his 
knee  or  Belding's,  for  there  was  a  resounding  smack. 

"He's  a  fine-spoken,  good-looking  chap,  you  said?" 
went  on  Belding. 

"Shore  he  is,"  said  Laddy,  warmly.  "What  do  you 
say,  Jim?" 

By  this  time  Dick  Gale's  ears  began  to  burn  and  he  was 
trying  to  make  himself  deaf  when  he  wanted  to  hear 
every  little  word. 

"Husky  young  fellow,  nice  voice,  steady,  clear  eyes, 
kinda  proud,  I  thought,  an*  some  handsome,  he  was," 
replied  Jim  Lash. 

"Maybe  I  ought  to  think  twice  before  taking  a  stranger 
into  my  family,"  said  Belding,  seriously.  "Well,  I  guess 
he's  all  right,  Laddy,  being  the  cavalryman's  friend. 
No  bum  or  lunger  ?  He  must  be  all  right  ?" 

"Bnm?    Lunger?    Say,  didn't  I  tell  you  I  shook  hands 


DESERT   GOLD 

with  this  boy  an'  was  plumb  glad  to  meet  him?"  de 
manded  Laddy,  with  considerable  heat.  Manifestly  he 
had  been  affronted.  "Tom  Beldin',  he's  a  gentleman,  an' 
he  could  lick  you  in — in  half  a  second.  How  about  that, 
Jim?" 

"Less  time,"  replied  Lash.  "Tom,  here's  my  stand. 
Young  Gale  can  have  my  hoss,  my  gun,  anythin'  of  mine." 

"Aw,  I  didn't  mean  to  insult  you,  boys,  don't  mistake 
me,"  said  Belding.  "Course  he's  all  right." 

The  object  of  this  conversation  lay  quiet  upon  his  bed, 
thrilling  and  amazed  at  being  so  championed  by  the  cow 
boys,  delighted  with  Belding's  idea  of  employing  him,  and 
much  amused  with  the  quaint  seriousness  of  the  three. 

"How's  the  young  man?"  called  a  woman's  voice.  It 
was  kind  and  mellow  and  earnest. 

Gale  heard  footsteps  on  flagstones. 

"He's  asleep  yet,  wife,"  replied  Belding.  "Guess  he 
was  pretty  much  knocked  out.  .  .  .  I'll  close  the  door 
there  so  we  won't  wake  him." 

There  were  slow,  soft  steps,  then  the  door  softly  closed. 
But  the  fact  scarcely  made  a  perceptible  difference  in  the 
sound  of  the  voices  outside. 

"Laddy  and  Jim  are  going  to  stay,"  went  on  Belding. 
"It'll  be  like  the  old  Panhandle  days  a  little.  I'm 
powerful  glad  to  have  the  boys,  Nellie.  You  know  I 
meant  to  send  to  Casita  to  ask  them.  We'll  see  some 
trouble  before  the  revolution  is  ended.  I  think  I'll  make 
this  young  man  Gale  an  offer." 

"He  isn't  a  cowboy?"  asked  Mrs.  Belding,  quickly  ~ 

"No." 

"Shore  he'd  make  a  darn  good  one,"  put  in  Laddy. 

"What  is  he  ?  Who  is  he  ?  Where  did  he  come  from  ? 
Surely  you  must  be — " 

"Laddy  swears  he's  all  right,"  interrupted  the  hushand. 
"That's  enough  reference  for  me.  Isn't  it  enough  for 
you?" 

"Humph !    Laddy  knows  a  lot  about  young  men,  now 

64 


FORLORN    RIVER 

doesn't  he,  especially  strangers  from  the  East  ?  ,  ,  ,  Tom, 
you  must  be  careful!" 

"Wife,  I'm  only  too  glad  to  have  a  nervy  young  chap 
come  along.  What  sense  is  there  in  your  objection,  if 
Jim  and  Laddy  stick  up  for  him?" 

"But,  Tom— he'U  fall  in  love  with  Nell!"  protested 
Mrs.  Belding. 

"Well,  wouldn't  that  be  regular?  Doesn't  every  man 
who  comes  along  fall  in  love  with  Nell  ?  Hasn't  it  always 
happened?  When  she  was  a  schoolgirl  in  Kansas  didn't 
it  happen  ?  Didn't  she  have  a  hundred  moon-eyed  ninnies 
after  her  in  Texas?  I've  had  some  peace  out  here  in  the 
desert,  except  when  a  Greaser  or  a  prospector  or  a  Yaqui 
would  come  along.  Then  same  old  story — in  love  with 
Nell!" 

"But,  Tom,  Nell  might  fall  in  love  with  this  young 
man!"  exclaimed  the  wife,  in  distress. 

"Laddy,  Jim,  didn't  I  tell  you?"  cried  Belding.  "I 
Knew  she'd  say  that.  .  .  .  My  dear  wife,  I  would  be  simply 
overcome  with  joy  if  Nell  did  fall  in  love  once.  Real 
^ood  and  hard !  She's  wilder  than  any  antelope  out  there 
on  the  desert.  Nell's  nearly  twenty  now,  and  so  far  as 
we  know  she's  never  cared  a  rap  for  any  fellow.  And 
she's  just  as  gay  and  full  of  the  devil  as  she  was  at  four 
teen.  Nell's  as  good  and  lovable  as  she  is  pretty,  but 
I'm  afraid  she'll  never  grow  into  a  woman  while  we  live 
out  in  this  lonely  land.  And  you've  always  hated  towns 
where  there  was  a  chance  for  the  girl — just  because  you 
were  afraid  she'd  fall  in  love.  You've  always  been 
strange,  even  silly,  about  that.  I've  done  my  best  for 
Nell — loved  her  as  if  she  were  my  own  daughter.  I've 
changed  many  business  plans  to  suit  your  whims.  There 
are  rough  times  ahead,  maybe.  I  need  men.  I'll  hire 
this  chap  Gale  if  he'll  stay.  Let  Nell  take  her  chance 
with  him,  just  as  she'll  have  to  take  chances  with  men 
when  we  get  out  of  the  desert.  She'll  be  all  the  better 
for  it" 


DESERT   GOLD 

"I  hope  Laddy's  not  mistaken  in  his  opinion  of  this 
newcomer,"  replied  Mrs.  Belding,  with  a  sigh  of  resig 
nation. 

"Shore  I  never  made  a  mistake  in  my  life  figger'n* 
people,"  said  Laddy,  stoutly. 

"Yes,  you  have,  Laddy,"  replied  Mrs.  Belding.  "You're 
wrong  about  Tom.  .  .  .  Well,  supper  is  to  be  got.  That 
young  man  and  the  girl  will  be  starved.  I'll  go  in  now. 
If  Nell  happens  around  don't — don't  flatter  her,  Laddy, 
like  you  did  at  dinner.  Don't  make  her  think  of  her 
looks." 

Dick  heard  Mrs.  Belding  walk  away. 

"Shore  she's  powerful  particular  about  that  girl/'  ob 
served  Laddy.  "Say,  Tom,  Nell  knows  she's  pretty, 
doesn't  she?" 

"She's  liable  to  find  it  out  unless  you  shut  up,  Laddy. 
When  you  visited  us  out  here  some  weeks  ago,  you  kept 
paying  cowboy  compliments  to  her." 

"An*  it's  your  idee  that  cowboy  compliments  are  plumb 
bad  for  girls?" 

"Downright  bad,  Laddy,  so  my  wife  says." 

"I'll  be  darned  if  I  believe  any  girl  can  be  hurt  by  a 
little  sweet  talk.  It  pleases  'em.  .  .  .  But  say,  Beldin'. 
speaking  of  looks,  have  you  got  a  peek  yet  at  the  Spanish 
girl?" 

"Not  in  the  light." 

"Well,  neither  have  I  in  daytime.  I  had  enough  by 
moonlight.  Nell  is  some  on  looks,  but  I'm  regretful 
passin'  the  ribbon  to  the  lady  from  Mex.  Jim,  where  are 
you?" 

"My  money's  on  Nell,"  replied  Lash.  "Gimme  a  girl 
with  flesh  an'  color,  an*  blue  eyes  a-Iaughin'.  Miss 
Castaneda  is  some  peach,  I'll  not  gainsay.  But  her  face 
seemed  too  white.  An*  when  she  flashed  those  eyes  on 
me,  I  thought  I  was  shot !  When  she  stood  up  there  at 
first,  thankin'  us,  I  felt  as  if  a — a  princess  was  round 
somewhere.  Now,  Nell  is  kiddish  an'  sweet  an'— " 

66 


FORLORN  RIVER 

"Chop  it,"  interrupted  Belding.  "Here  comes  Nell 
now." 

Dick's  tingling  ears  took  in  the  pattering  of  light  foot 
steps,  the  rush  of  some  one  running. 

"Here  you  are,"  cried  a  sweet,  happy  voice.  "Dad,  the 
Senorita  is  perfectly  lovely.  I've  been  peeping  at  her. 
She  sleeps  like— like  death.  She's  so  white.  Oh,  I  hope 
she  won't  be  ill." 

"Shore  she's  only  played  out,"  said  Laddy.  "But  she 
had  spunk  while  it  lasted.  ...  I  was  just  arguin'  with 
Jim  an'  Tom  about  Miss  Castafieda." 

"Gracious!  Why,  she's  beautiful.  I  never  saw  any 
one  so  beautiful.  .  .  .  How  strange  and  sad,  that  about 
her !  Tell  me  more,  Laddy.  You  promised.  I'm  dying 
to  know.  I  never  hear  anything  in  this  awful  place. 
Didn't  you  say  the  Senorita  had  a  sweetheart?" 

"Shore  I  did." 

"And  he's  a  cavalryman?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  he  the  young  man  who  came  with  you  ?" 

"Nope.  That  fellow's  the  one  who  saved  the  girl  from 
ftojas." 

"Ah!    Where  is  he,  Laddy?" 

"He's  in  there  asleep." 

"Is  he  hurt?" 

"I  reckon  not.    He  walked  about  fifteen  miles." 

"Is  he— nice,  Laddy?" 

"Shore." 

"What  is  he  like?" 

"Well,  I'm  not  long  acquainted,  never  saw  him  by  day, 
but  I  was  some  tolerable  took  with  him.  An'  Jim  here, 
Jim  says  the  young  man  can  have  his  gun  an'  his  hoss." 

"Wonderful!  Laddy,  what  on  earth  did  this  stranger 
do  to  win  you  cowboys  in  just  one  night?" 

"I'll  shore  have  to  tell  you.  Me  an'  Jim  was  watchin* 
a  game  of  cards  in  the  Del  Sol  saloon  in  Casita.  That's 
across  the  line.  We  had  acquaintances — four  fellows  from 

67 


DESERT  GOLD 

the  Cross  Bar  outfit,  where  we  worked  a  while  back. 
This  Del  Sol  is  a  billiard  hall,  saloon,  restaurant,  an'  the 
like.  An*  it  was  full  of  Greasers.  Some  of  Campo's 
rebels  were  there  drinkin'  an'  playin'  games.  Then  pretty 
soon  in  come  Rojas  with  some  of  his  outfit.  They  were 
packin'  guns  an*  kept  to  themselves  off  to  one  side.  I 
didn't  give  them  a  second  look  till  Jim  said  he  reckoned 
there  was  somethin'  in  the  wind.  Then,  careless-like,  I 
began  to  peek  at  Rojas.  They  call  Rojas  the  'dandy 
rebel,'  an*  he  shore  looked  the  part.  It  made  me  sick  to 
see  him  in  all  that  lace  an'  glitter,  knowin*  him  to  be  the 
cutthroat  robber  he  is.  It's  no  oncommon  sight  to  see 
excited  Greasers.  They're  all  crazy.  But  this  bandit 
was  shore  some  agitated.  He  kept  his  men  in  a  tight 
bunch  round  a  table.  He  talked  an'  waved  his  hands 
He  was  actually  shakin'.  His  eyes  had  a  wild  glare 
Now  I  figgered  that  trouble  was  brewin',  most  likely  for 
the  little  Casita  garrison.  People  seemed  to  think  Campo 
an'  Rojas  would  join  forces  to  oust  the  federals.  Jim 
thought  Rojas'  excitement  was  at  the  hatchin*  of  some 
plot.  Anyway,  we  didn't  join  no  card  games,  an3  without 
pretendin'  to,  we  was  some  watchful 

"A  little  while  afterward  I  seen  a  fellow  standin'  in  the 
restaurant  door.  He  was  a  young  American  dressed  in 
corduroys  an*  boots,  like  a  prospector.  You  know  it's 
no  onusual  fact  to  see  prospectors  in  these  parts.  What 
made  me  think  twice  about  this  one  was  how  big  he 
seemed,  how  he  filled  up  that  door.  He  looked  round 
the  saloon,  an*  when  he  spotted  Rojas  he  sorta  jerked 
up.  Then  he  pulled  his  slouch  hat  lopsided  an'  began  to 
stagger  down,  down  the  steps.  First  off  I  made  shore 
he  was  drunk  But  I  remembered  he  didn't  seem  drunk 
before.  It  was  some  queer.  So  I  watched  that  young 
man. 

"He  reeled  around  the  room  like  a  fellow  who  was 
drunker'n  a  lord.  Nobody  but  me  seemed  to  notice  him. 
Then  he  began  to  stumble  over  pool-players  an*  get  his 

68 


FORLORN   RIVER 

feet  tangled  up  in  chairs  an5  bump  against  tables.  He  got 
some  pretty  hard  looks.  He  came  round  our  way,  an'  all 
of  a  sudden  he  seen  us  cowboys.  He  gave  another  start, 
like  the  one  when  he  first  seen  Rojas,  then  he  made  for 
us.  I  tipped  Jim  off  that  somethin'  was  doin'. 

"When  he  got  close  he  straightened  up,  put  back  his 
slouch  hat,  an'  looked  at  us.  Then  I  saw  his  face.  It 
sorta  electrified  yours  truly.  It  was  white,  with  veins; 
standin'  out  an'  eyes  flamin' — a  face  of  fury.  I  was 
plumb  amazed,  didn't  know  what  to  think.  Then  this 
queer  young  man  shot  some  cool,  polite  words  at  me 
an'  Jim. 

"He  was  only  bluffm'  at  bein'  drunk — he  meant  to  rush 
Rojas,  to  start  a  rough  house.  The  bandit  was  after  a 
girl.  This  girl  was  in  the  hotel,  an'  she  was  the  sweet 
heart  of  a  soldier,  the  young  fellow's  friend.  The  hotel 
was  watched  by  Rojas's  guards,  an'  the  plan  was  to  make 
a  fuss  an'  get  the  girl  away  in  the  excitement.  Well, 
Jim  an'  me  got  a  hint  of  our  bein'  Americans — that  cow 
boys  generally  had  a  name  for  loyalty  to  women.  Then 
this  amazin'  chap — you  can't  imagine  how  scornful — said 
for  me  an'  Jim  to  watch  him. 

"Before  I  could  catch  my  breath  an*  figger  out  what  he 
meant  by  'rush'  an'  'rough  house'  he  had  knocked  over 
a  table  an'  crowded  some  Greaser  half  off  the  map.  One 
little  funny  man  leaped  up  like  a  wild  monkey  an'  began 
to  screech.  An'  in  another  second  he  was  in  the  air  up 
side  down.  When  he  lit,  he  laid  there.  Then,  quicker'n 
I  can  tell  you,  the  young  man  dove  at  Rojas.  Like  a  mad 
steer  on  the  rampage  he  charged  Rojas  an*  his  men.  The 
whole  outfit  went  down — smash!  I  figgered  then  what 
'rush'  meant.  The  young  fellow  came  up  out  of  the  pile 
with  Rojas,  an'  just  like  I'd  sling  an  empty  sack  along 
the  floor  he  sent  the  bandit.  But  swift  as  that  went  he 
was  on  top  of  Rojas  before  the  chairs  an'  tables  had 
stopped  rollin'. 

"I  woke  up  then,  an'  made  for  the  center  of  the  room, 

6? 


DESERT   GOLD 

Jim  with  me.  I  began  to  shoot  out  the  lamps.  Jim 
throwed  his  guns  on  the  crazy  rebels,  an*  I  was  afraid 
there'd  be  blood  spilled  before  I  could  get  the  room  dark. 
Bern*  shore  busy,  I  lost  sight  of  the  young  fellow  for  a 
second  or  so,  an'  when  I  got  an  eye  free  for  him  I  seen  a 
Greaser  about  to  knife  him.  Think  I  was  some  consid 
erate  of  the  Greaser  by  only  shootin'  his  arm  off.  Then 
I  cracked  the  last  lamp,  an*  in  the  hullabaloo  me  an*  Jim 
vamoosed. 

"We  made  tracks  for  our  hosses  an*  packs,  an*  was 
hittin'  the  San  Felipe  road  when  we  run  right  plumb  into 
the  young  man.  Well,  he  said  his  name  was  Gale — Dick 
Gale.  The  girl  was  with  him  safe  an*  well;  but  her 
sweetheart,  the  soldier,  bein'  away  without  leave,  had  to 
go  back  sudden.  There  shore  was  some  trouble,  for  Jim 
an'  me  heard  shootin'.  Gale  said  he  had  no  money,  no 
friends,  was  a  stranger  in  a  desert  country;  an*  he  was 
distracted  to  know  how  to  help  the  girl.  So  me  an'  Jim 
started  off  with  them  for  San  Felipe,  got  switched,  an' 
then  we  headed  for  the  Rio  Forlorn." 

"Oh,  I  think  he  was  perfectly  splendid !"  exclaimed  the 
girl. 

"Shore  he  was.  Only,  Nell,  you  can't  lay  no  claim  to 
bein'  the  original  discoverer  of  that  fact." 

"But,  Laddy,  you  haven't  told  me  what  he  looks  like/* 

!At  this  juncture  Dick  Gale  felt  it  absolutely  impossible 
for  him  to  play  the  eavesdropper  any  longer.  Quietly 
he  rolled  out  of  bed.  The  voices  still  sounded  close  out 
side,  and  it  was  only  by  effort  that  he  kept  from  further 
listening.  Belding's  kindly  interest,  Laddy's  blunt  and 
sincere  cowboy  eulogy,  the  girl's  sweet  eagerness  and 
praise — these  warmed  Gale's  heart.  He  had  fallen  among 
simple  people,  into  whose  lives  the  advent  of  an  unknown 
man  was  welcome.  He  found  himself  in  a  singularly 
agitated  mood.  The  excitement,  the  thrill,  the  difference 
felt  in  himself,  experienced  the  preceding  night,  had  ex 
tended  on  into  his  present.,  And  the  possibilities  suggested 

70 


FORLORN   RIVER 

By  the  conversation  he  had  unwittingly  overheard  added 
sufficiently  to  the  other  feelings  to  put  him  into  a  pecu 
liarly  receptive  state  of  mind.  He  was  wild  to  be  one  of 
Belding's  rangers.  The  idea  of  riding  a  horse  in  the  open 
desert,  with  a  dangerous  duty  to  perform,  seemed  to  strike 
him  with  an  appealing  force.  Something  within  him  went 
out  to  the  cowboys,  to  this  blunt  and  kind  Belding.  He 
was  afraid  to  meet  the  girl.  If  every  man  who  came  along 
fell  in  love  with  this  sweet-voiced  Nell,  then  what  hope 
had  he  to  escape — now,  when  his  whole  inner  awakening 
betokened  a  change  of  spirit,  hope,  a  rinding  of  real 
worth,  real  good,  real  power  in  himself?  He  did  not  un 
derstand  wholly ;  yet  he  felt  ready  to  ride,  to  fight,  to  love 
the  desert,  to  love  these  outdoor  men,  to  love  a  woman. 
That  beautiful  Spanish  girl  had  spoken  to  something  dead 
in  him,  and  it  had  quickened  to  life.  The  sweet  voice 
of  an  audacious,  unseen  girl  warned  him  that  presently 
a  still  more  wonderful  thing  would  happen  to  him. 

Gale  imagined  he  made  noise  enough  as  he  clumsily 
pulled  on  his  boots ;  yet  the  voices,  split  by  a  merry  laugh, 
kept  on  murmuring  outside  the  door.  It  was  awkward 
for  him,  having  only  one  hand  available  to  lace  up  his 
boots.  He  looked  out  of  the  window.  Evidently  this 
was  at  the  end  of  the  house.  There  was  a  flagstone  walk, 
beside  which  ran  a  ditch  full  of  swift,  muddy  water.  It 
made  a  pleasant  sound.  There  were  trees  strange  of 
form  and  color  to  him.  He  heard  bees,  birds,  chickens, 
saw  the  red  of  roses  and  green  of  grass.  Then  he  saw, 
close  to  the  wall,  a  tub  full  of  water,  and  a  bench  upon 
which  lay  basin,  soap,  towel,  comb,  and  brush.  The 
window  was  also  a  door,  for  under  it  there  was  a  step. 

Gale  hesitated  a  moment,  then  went  out.  He  stepped 
naturally,  hoping  and  expecting  that  the  cowboys  would 
hear  him.  But  nobody  came.  Awkwardly,  with  left 
hand,  he  washed  his  face.  Upon  a  nail  in  the  wall  hung 
a  little  mirror,  by  the  aid  of  which  Dick  combed  and 
brushed  his  hair.  He  imagined  he  looked  a  most  hag- 

7* 


DESERT   GOLD 

gard  wretch.  With  that  he  faced  forward,  meaning  to 
go  round  the  corner  of  the  house  to  greet  the  cowboys 
and  these  new-found  friends. 

Dick  had  taken  but  one  step  when  he  was  halted  by 
laughter  and  the  patter  of  light  feet. 

From  close  around  the  corner  pealed  out  that  sweet 
voice.  "Dad,  you'll  have  your  wish,  and  mama  will 
be  wild!" 

Dick  saw  a  little  foot  sweep  into  view,  a  white  dress, 
then  the  swiftly  moving  form  of  a  girl.  She  was  looking 
backward. 

"Dad,  I  shall  fall  in  love  with  your  new  ranger,  I 
will— I  have—" 

Then  she  plumped  squarely  into  Dick's  arms. 

She  started  back  violently. 

Dick  saw  a  fair  face  and  dark-blue,  audaciously  flash 
ing  eyes.  Swift  as  lightning  their  expression  changed  to 
surprise,  fear,  wonder.  For  an  instant  they  were  level 
with  Dick's  grave  questioning.  Suddenly,  sweetly,  she 
blushed. 

"Oh-h!"  she  faltered. 

Then  the  blush  turned  to  a  scarlet  fire.  She  whirled 
past  him,  and  like  a  white  gleam  was  gone. 

Dick  became  conscious  of  the  quickened  beating  of  his 
heart.  He  experienced  a  singular  exhilaration.  That 
moment  had  been  the  one  for  which  he  had  been  ripe, 
the  event  upon  which  strange  circumstances  had  been 
rushing  him. 

With  a  couple  of  strides  he  turned  the  corner.  Laddy 
and  Lash  were  there  talking  to  a  man  of  burly  form. 
Seen  by  day,  both  cowboys  were  gray-haired,  red-skinned, 
and  weather-beaten,  with  lean,  sharp  features,  and  gray 
eyes  so  much  alike  that  they  might  have  been  brothers. 

"Hello,  there's  the  young  fellow,"  spoke  up  the  burly 
man.  "Mr.  Gale,  I'm  glad  to  meet  you.  My  name's 
Belding." 

His  greeting  was  as  warm  as  his  handclasp  was  long  and 

72 


FORLORN  RIVER 

hard.  Gale  saw  a  heavy  man  of  medium  height.  His 
head  was  large  and  covered  with  grizzled  locks.  He  wore 
a  short-cropped  mustache  and  chin  beard.  His  skin  was 
brown,  and  his  dark  eyes  beamed  with  a  genial  light. 

The  cowboys  were  as  cordial  as  if  Dick  had  been  their 
friend  for  years. 

"Young  man,  did  you  run  into  anything  as  you  came 
out?"  asked  Belding,  with  twinkling  eyes. 

"Why,  yes;  I  met  something  white  and  swift  flying 
by,"  replied  Dick. 

"Did  she  see  you?"  asked  Laddy. 

"I  think  so;  but  she  didn't  wait  for  me  to  introduce 
myself." 

"That  was  Nell  Burton,  my  girl — step-daughter,  I 
should  say,"  said  Belding.  "She's  sure  some  whirlwind, 
as  Laddy  calls  her.  Come,  let's  go  in  and  meet  the  wife.1* 

The  house  was  long,  like  a  barracks,  with  porch  ex* 
tending  all  the  way,  and  doors  every  dozen  paces.  When 
Dick  was  ushered  into  a  sitting-room,  he  was  amazed  at 
the  light  and  comfort.  This  room  had  two  big  windows 
and  a  door  opening  into  a  patio,  where  there  were  lux 
uriant  grass,  roses  in  bloom,  and  flowering  trees.  He 
heard  a  slow  splashing  of  water. 

In  Mrs.  Belding,  Gale  found  a  woman  of  noble  propor 
tions  and  striking  appearance.  Her  hair  was  white.  She 
had  a  strong,  serious,  well-lined  face  that  bore  haunting 
evidences  of  past  beauty.  The  gaze  she  bent  upon  him 
was  almost  piercing  in  its  intensity.  Her  greeting,  which 
seemed  to  Dick  rather  slow  in  coming,  was  kind  though 
not  cordial.  Gale's  first  thought,  after  he  had  thanked 
these  good  people  for  their  hospitality,  was  to  inquire 
about  Mercedes.  He  was  informed  that  the  Spanish  girl 
had  awakened  with  a  considerable  fever  and  nervousness. 
When,  however,  her  anxiety  had  been  allayed  and  her 
thirst  relieved,  she  had  fallen  asleep  again.  Mrs.  Belding 
said  the  girl  had  suffered  no  great  hardship,  other  than 
mental,  and  would  very  soon  be  rested  and  welL 

73 


DESERT   GOLD 

"Now,  Gale,"  said  Belding,  when  his  wife  had  excused 
herself  to  get  supper,  "the  boys,  Jim  and  Laddy,  told  me 
about  you  and  the  mix-up  at  Casita.  I'll  be  glad  to  take 
care  of  the  girl  till  it's  safe  for  your  soldier  friend  to  get 
her  out  of  the  country.  That  won't  be  very  soon,  don't 
mistake  me. ...  I  don't  want  to  seem  over-curious  about 
you — Laddy  has  interested  me  in  you — and  straight  out 
I'd  like  to  know  what  you  propose  to  do  now." 

"I  haven't  any  plans,"  replied  Dick;  and,  taking  the 
moment  as  propitious,  he  decided  to  speak  frankly 
concerning  himself.  "I  just  drifted  down  here.  My 
home  is  in  Chicago.  When  I  left  school  some  years  ago 
— I'm  twenty-five  now — I  went  to  work  for  my  father. 
He's — he  has  business  interests  there.  I  tried  all  kinds 
of  inside  jobs.  I  couldn't  please  my  father.  I  guess  I 
put  no  real  heart  in  my  work.  The  fact  was  I  didn't 
know  how  to  work.  The  governor  and  I  didn't  exactly 
quarrel ;  but  he  hurt  my  feelings,  and  I  quit.  Six  months 
pr  more  ago  I  came  West,  and  have  knocked  about  from 
Wyoming  southwest  to  the  border.  I  tried  to  find  con 
genial  work,  but  nothing  came  my  way.  To  tell  you 
frankly,  Mr.  Belding,  I  suppose  I  didn't  much  care.  I 
believe,  though,  that  all  the  time  I  didn't  know  what  I 
Wanted.  I've  learned — well,  just  lately — " 

"What  do  you  want  to  do?"  interposed  Belding. 

"I  want  a  man's  job.  I  want  to  do  things  with  my 
hands.  I  want  action.  I  want  to  be  outdoors." 

Belding  nodded  his  head  as  if  he  understood  that,  and 
he  began  to  speak  again,  cut  something  short,  then  went 
on,  hesitatingly: 

"Gale — you  could  go  home  again — to  the  old  man — 
it'dbeall  right?" 

"Mr.  Belding,  there's  nothing  shady  in  my  past.  The 
governor  would  be  glad  to  have  me  home.  That's  the 
only  consolation  I've  got.  But  I'm  not  going.  I'm 
broke.  I  won't  be  a  tramp.  And  it's  up  to  me  to  do 
something." 

74 


FORLORN   RIVER 

"How'd  you  like  to  be  a  border  ranger?"  asked  Beld 
ing,  laying  a  hand  on  Dick's  knee.  "Part  of  my  job  here 
is  United  States  Inspector  of  Immigration.  I've  got  that 
boundary  line  to  patrol — to  keep  out  Chinks  and  Japs. 
This  revolution  has  added  complications,  and  I'm  looking 
for  smugglers  and  raiders  here  any  day.  You'll  not  be 
hired  by  the  U.  S.  You'll  simply  be  my  ranger,  same  as 
Laddy  and  Jim,  who  have  promised  to  work  for  me. 
I'll  pay  you  well,  give  you  a  room  here,  furnish  every 
thing  down  to  guns,  and  the  finest  horse  you  ever  saw  in 
your  life.  Your  job  won't  be  safe  and  healthy,  some 
times,  but  it  '11  be  a  man's  job — don't  mistake  me !  You 
can  gamble  on  having  things  to  do  outdoors.  Now,  what 
do  you  say?" 

"I  accept,  and  I  thank  you — I  can't  say  how  much," 
replied  Gale,  earnestly, 

"Good !  That's  settled.  Let's  go  out  and  tell  Laddy 
and  Jim." 

Both  boys  expressed  satisfaction  at  the  turn  of  affairs, 
and  then  with  Belding  they  set  out  to  take  Gale  around 
the  ranch.  The  house  and  several  outbuildings  were 
constructed  of  adobe,  which,  according  to  Belding,  re 
tained  the  summer  heat  on  into  winter,  and  the  winter 
cold  on  into  summer.  These  gray-red  mud  habitations' 
were  hideous  to  look  at,  and  this  fact,  perhaps,  made  their 
really  comfortable  interiors  more  vividly  a  contrast. 
The  wide  grounds  were  covered  with  luxuriant  grass  and 
flowers  and  different  kinds  of  trees.  Gale's  interest  led 
him  to  ask  about  fig  trees  and  pomegranates,  and  es 
pecially  about  a  beautiful  specimen  that  Belding  called 
palo  verde. 

Belding  explained  that  the  luxuriance  of  this  desert 
place  was  owing  to  a  few  springs  and  the  dammed-up 
waters  of  the  Rio  Forlorn.  Before  he  had  come  to  the 
oasis  it  had  been  inhabited  by  a  Papago  Indian  tribe  and 
a  few  peon  families.  The  oasis  lay  in  an  arroyo  a  mile 
wide,  and  sloped  southwest  for  some  ten  miles  or  more. 

75 


DESERT   GOLD 

The  river  went  dry  most  of  the  year ;  but  enough  water 
was  stored  in  flood  season  to  irrigate  the  gardens  and 
alfalfa  fields. 

"I've  got  one  never-failing  spring  on  my  place,"  said 
Belding.  "Fine,  sweet  water!  You  know  what  that 
means  in  the  desert.  I  like  this  oasis.  The  longer  I  live 
here  the  better  I  like  it.  There's  not  a  spot  in  southern 
Arizona  that'll  compare  with  this  valley  for  water  or 
grass  or  wood.  It's  beautiful  and  healthy.  Forlorn  and 
lonely,  yes,  especially  for  women  like  my  wife  and  Nell ; 

but  I  like  it And  between  you  and  me,  boys,  I've 

got  something  up  my  sleeve.  There's  gold  dust  in  the 
arroyos,  and  there's  mineral  up  in  the  mountains.  If  we 
only  had  water !  This  hamlet  has  steadily  grown  since  I 
took  up  a  station  here.  Why,  Casita  is  no  place  beside 
Forlorn  River.  Pretty  soon  the  Southern  Pacific  will 
shoot  a  railroad  branch  out  here.  There  are  possibilities, 
and  I  want  you  boys  to  stay  with  me  and  get  in  on  the 
ground  floor.  I  wish  this  rebel  war  was  over.  .  .  .  Well, 
here  are  the  corrals  and  the  fields.  Gale,  take  a  look 
at  that  bunch  of  horses !" 

Belding's  last  remark  was  made  as  he  led  his  companions 
out  of  shady  gardens  into  the  open.  Gale  saw  an  adobe 
shed  and  a  huge  pen  fenced  by  strangely  twisted  and  con 
torted  branches  or  trunks  of  mesquite,  and,  beyond  these, 
wide,  flat  fields,  green — a  dark,  rich  green — and  dotted 
with  beautiful  horses.  There  were  whites  and  blacks,  and 
bays  and  grays.  In  his  admiration  Gale  searched  his 
memory  to  see  if  he  could  remember  the  like  of  these 
magnificent  animals,  and  had  to  admit  that  the  only  ones 
he  could  compare  with  them  were  the  Arabian  steeds. 

"Every  rancher  loves  his  horses,"  said  Belding.  "When 
I  was  in  the  Panhandle  I  had  some  fine  stock.  But 
these  are  Mexican.  They  came  from  Durango,  where 
they  were  bred.  Mexican  horses  are  the  finest  in  the 
world,  bar  none." 

"Shore  I  reckon  I  savvy  why  you  don't  sleep  nights," 

76 


FORLORN   RIVER 

drawled  Laddy.  "I  see  a  Greaser  out  there — no,  it's  an 
Indian." 

"That's  my  Papago  herdsman.  I  keep  watch  over  the 
horses  now  day  and  night.  Lord,  how  I'd  hate  to  have 
Rojas  or  Salazar — any  of  those  bandit  rebels — find  my 
horses ! . . .  Gale,  can  you  ride  ?" 

Dick  modestly  replied  that  he  could,  according  to  the 
Eastern  idea  of  horsemanship. 

"You  don't  need  to  be  half  horse  to  ride  one  of  that 
bunch.  But  over  there  in  the  other  field  I've  iron-jawed 
bronchos  I  wouldn't  want  you  to  tackle— except  to  see 
the  fun.  I've  an  outlaw  I'll  gamble  even  Laddy  can't 
ride." 

"So.  How  much '11  you  gamble?"  asked  Laddy,  in 
stantly. 

The  ringing  of  a  bell,  which  Belding  said  was  a  call  to 
supper,  turned  the  men  back  toward  the  house.  Facing 
that  way,  Gale  saw  dark,  beetling  ridges  rising  from  the 
oasis  and  leading  up  to  bare,  black  mountains.  He  had 
heard  Belding  call  them  No  Name  Mountains,  and  some 
how  the  appellation  suited  those  lofty,  mysterious,  frown 
ing  peaks. 

It  was  not  until  they  reached  the  house  and  were  about 
to  go  in  that  Belding  chanced  to  discover  Gale's  crippled 
hand. 

"What  an  awful  hand!"  he  exclaimed.  "Where  the 
devil  did  you  get  that?" 

"I  stove  in  my  knuckles  on  Rojas,"  replied  Dick. 

"You  did  that  in  one  punch?  Say,  I'm  glad  it  wasn'li 
me  you  hit!  Why  didn't  you  tell  me?  That's  a  bad 
hand.  Those  cuts  are  full  of  dirt  and  sand.  Inflamma 
tion's  setting  in.  It's  got  to  be  dressed.  Nell !"  he  called. 

There  was  no  answer.    He  called  again,  louder. 

"Mother,  where's  the  girl?" 

"She's  there  in  the  dining-room,"  replied  Mrs.  Belding, 

"Did  she  hear  me?"  he  inquired,  impatiently. 

"Of  course." 

77 


DESERT   GOLD 

"Nellt"  roared  Belding. 

This  brought  results.  Dick  saw  a  glimpse  of  golden 
hair  and  a  white  dress  in  the  door.  But  they  were  not 
visible  longer  than  a  second. 

"Dad,  what's  the  matter?"  asked  a  voice  that  was 
still  as  sweet  as  formerly,  but  now  rather  small  and  con 
strained. 

"Bring  the  antiseptics,  cotton,  bandages — and  things 
out  here.  Hurry  now." 

Belding  fetched  a  pail  of  water  and  a  basin  from  the 
kitchen.  His  wife  followed  him  out,  and,  upon  seeing 
Dick's  hand,  was  all  solicitude.  Then  Dick  heard  light, 
quick  footsteps,  but  he  did  not  look  up. 

"Nell,  this  is  Mr.  Gale — Dick  Gale,  who  came  with  the 
boys  last  night,"  said  Belding.  "He's  got  an  awful  hand. 
Got  it  punching  that  greaser  Rojas.  I  want  you  to  dress 

it Gale,  this  is  my  step-daughter,  Nell  Burton,  of 

whom  I  spoke.  She's  some  good  when  there's  somebody 
sick  or  hurt.  Shove  out  your  fist,  my  boy,  and  let  her 
get  at  it.  Supper's  nearly  ready." 

Dick  felt  that  same  strange,  quickening  heart  throb, 
yet  he  had  never  been  cooler  in  his  life.  More  than  any 
thing  else  in  the  world  he  wanted  to  look  at  Nell  Burton ; 
however,  divining  that  the  situation  might  be  embarrass 
ing  to  her,  he  refrained  from  looking  up.  She  began  to 
bathe  his  injured  knuckles.  He  noted  the  softness,  the 
deftness  of  her  touch,  and  then  it  seemed  her  fingers  were 
not  quite  as  steady  as  they  might  have  been.  Still,  in  a 
moment  they  appeared  to  become  surer  in  their  work. 
She  had  beautiful  hands,  not  too  large,  though  certainly 
not  small,  and  they  were  strong,  brown,  supple.  He  ob 
served  next,  with  stealthy,  upward-stealing  glance,  that 
she  had  rolled  up  her  sleeves,  exposing  fine,  round  arms 
graceful  in  line.  Her  skin  was  brown — no,  it  was  more 
gold  than  brown.  It  had  a  wonderful  clear  tint.  Dick 
stoically  lowered  his  eyes  then,  putting  off  as  long  as  pos 
sible  the  alluring  moment  when  he  was  to  look  into  her 

78 


FORLORN   RIVER 

face.  That  would  be  a  fateful  moment.  He  played  with 
a  certain  strange  joy  of  anticipation.  When,  however, 
she  sat  down  beside  him  and  rested  his  injured  hand  in 
her  lap  as  she  cut  bandages,  she  was  so  thrillingly  near 
that  he  yielded  to  an  irrepressible  desire  to  look  up.  She 
had  a  sweet,  fair  face  warmly  tinted  with  that  same 
healthy  golden-brown  sunburn.  Her  hair  was  light  gold 
and  abundant,  a  waving  mass.  Her  eyes  were  shaded  by 
long,  downcast  lashes,  yet  through  them  he  caught  a 
gleam  of  blue. 

Despite  the  stir  within  him,  Gale,  seeing  she  was  now 
absorbed  in  her  task,  critically  studied  her  with  a  second 
closer  gaze.  She  was  a  sweet,  wholesome,  joyous,  pretty 
girl. 

"Shore  it  musta  hurt?"  inquired  Laddy,  who  sat  an 
interested  spectator. 

"Yes,  I  confess  it  did/'  replied  Dick,  slowly,  with  his 
eyes  on  Nell's  face.  "But  I  didn't  mind." 

The  girl's  lashes  swept  up  swiftly  in  surprise.  She  had 
taken  his  words  literally.  But  the  dark-blue  eyes  met  his 
for  only  a  fleeting  second.  Then  the  warm  tint  in  her 
cheeks  turned  as  red  as  her  lips.  Hurriedly  she  finished 
tying  the  bandage  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"I  thank  you,"  said  Gale,  also  rising. 

With  that  Belding  appeared  in  the  doorway,  and,  find 
ing  the  operation  concluded,  called  them  in  to  supper. 
Dick  had  the  use  of  only  one  arm,  and  he  certainly  was 
keenly  aware  of  the  shy,  silent  girl  across  the  table;  but 
in  spite  of  these  considerable  handicaps  he  eclipsed  both 
hungry  cowboys  in  the  assault  upon  Mrs.  Belding's 
bounteous  supper.  Belding  talked,  the  cowboys  talked 
more  or  less,  Mrs.  Belding  put  in  a  word  now  and  then, 
and  Dick  managed  to  find  brief  intervals  when  it  was 
possible  for  him  to  say  yes  or  no.  He  observed  gratefully 
that  no  one  round  the  table  seemed  to  be  aware  of  his 
enormous  appetite. 

After  supper,  having  a  favorable  opportunity  when  for 

79 


DESERT  GOLD 

a  moment  no  one  was  at  hand,  Dick  went  out  through  the 
yard,  past  the  gardens  and  fields,  and  climbed  the  first 
knoll.  From  that  vantage  point  he  looked  out  over  the 
little  hamlet,  somewhat  to  his  right,  and  was  surprised 
at  its  extent,  its  considerable  number  of  adobe  houses. 
The  overhanging  mountains,  ragged  and  darkened,  a 
great  heave  of  splintered,  sundered  rock,  rather  chilled 
and  affronted  him. 

Westward  the  setting  sun  gilded  a  spiked,  frost-colored, 
limitless  expanse  of  desert.  It  awed  Gale.  Everywhere 
rose  blunt,  broken  ranges  or  isolated  groups  of  moun 
tains.  Yet  the  desert  stretched  away  down  between 
and  beyond  them.  When  the  sun  set  and  Gale  could  not 
see  so  far,  he  felt  a  relief. 

That  grand  and  austere  attraction  of  distance  gone,  he 
saw  the  desert  nearer  at  hand — the  valley  at  his  feet. 
What  a  strange,  gray,  somber  place !  There  was  a  lighter 
strip  of  gray  winding  down  between  darker  hues.  This 
he  realized  presently  was  the  river  bed,  and  he  saw  how 
the  pools  of  water  narrowed  and  diminished  in  size  till 
they  lost  themselves  in  gray  sand.  This  was  the  rainy 
season,  near  its  end,  and  here  a  little  river  struggled 
hopelessly,  forlornly  to  live  in  the  desert.  He  received  a 
potent  impression  of  the  nature  of  that  blasted  age-worn 
waste  which  he  had  divined  was  to  give  him  strength  and 
work  and  love. 


A  DESERT  ROSE 

B  ELDING  assigned  Dick  to  a  little  room  which  had 
no  windows  but  two  doors,  one  opening  into  the 
patio,  the  other  into  the  yard  on  the  west  side  of  the 
house.  It  contained  only  the  barest  necessities  for  com 
fort.  Dick  mentioned  the  baggage  he  had  left  in  the  hotel 
at  Casita,  and  it  was  Belding's  opinion  that  to  try  to 
recover  this  property  would  be  rather  risky;  on  the 
moment  Richard  Gale  was  probably  not  popular  with  the 
Mexicans  at  Casita.  So  Dick  bade  good-bye  to  fine  suits 
of  clothes  and  linen  with  a  feeling  that,  as  he  had  said 
farewell  to  an  idle  and  useless  past,  it  was  just  as  well 
not  to  have  any  old  luxuries  as  reminders.  As  he  pos 
sessed,  however,  not  a  thing  save  the  clothes  on  his  back, 
and  not  even  a  handkerchief,  he  expressed  regret  that  he 
had  come  to  Forlorn  River  a  beggar. 

"Beggar  hell!"  exploded  Belding,  with  his  eyes  snap 
ping  in  the  lamplight.  "Money's  the  last  thing  we  think 
of  out  here.  All  the  same,  Gale,  if  you  stick  you'll  be 
rich." 

"It  wouldn't  surprise  me/'  replied  Dick,  thoughtfully. 
But  he  was  not  thinking  of  material  wealth.  Then,  as 
he  viewed  his  stained  and  torn  shirt,  he  laughed  and  said : 
"Belding,  while  I'm  getting  rich  I'd  like  to  have  some 
respectable  clothes." 

"We've  a  little  Mex  store  in  town,  and  what  you  can't 
get  there  the  women  folks  will  make  for  you." 

When  Dick  lay  down  he  was  dully  conscious  of  pain 
and  headache,  that  he  did  not  feel  well.  Despite  this, 

81 


DESERT  GOLD 

and  a  mind  thronging1  with  memories  and  anticipations, 
he  succumbed  to  weariness  and  soon  fell  asleep. 

It  was  light  when  he  awoke,  but  a  strange  brightness 
seen  through  what  seemed  blurred  eyes.  A  moment 
passed  before  his  mind  worked  clearly,  and  then  he  had 
to  make  an  effort  to  think.  He  was  dizzy.  When  he 
essayed  to  lift  his  right  arm,  an  excruciating  pain  made 
him  desist.  Then  he  discovered  that  his  arm  was  badly 
swollen,  and  the  hand  had  burst  its  bandages.  The  in 
jured  member  was  red,  angry,  inflamed,  and  twice  its 
normal  size.  He  felt  hot  all  over,  and  a  raging  headache 
consumed  him. 

Belding  came  stamping  into  the  room. 

"Hello,  Dick.  Do  you  know  it's  late?  How's  the 
busted  fist  this  morning?" 

Dick  tried  to  sit  up,  but  his  effort  was  a  failure.  He 
got  about  half  up,  then  felt  himself  weakly  sliding  back. 

"I  guess — I'm  pretty  sick,"  he  said. 

He  saw  Belding  lean  over  him,  feel  his  face,  and  speak, 
and  then  everything  seemed  to  drift,  not  into  darkness, 
but  into  some  region  where  he  had  dim  perceptions  of 
gray  moving  things,  and  of  voices  that  were  remote 
Then  there  came  an  interval  when  all  was  blank.  He 
knew*  not  whether  it  was  one  of  minutes  or  hours,  but 
after  it  he  had  a  clearer  mind.  He  slept,  awakened  during 
night-time,  and  slept  again.  When  he  again  unclosed  his 
eyes  the  room  was  sunny,  and  cool  with  a  fragrant  breeze 
tfiat  blew  through  the  open  door.  Dick  felt  better;  but 
he  had  no  particular  desire  to  move  or  talk  or  eat.  He 
had,  however,  a  burning  thirst.  Mrs.  Belding  visited  him 
often ;  her  husband  came  in  several  times,  and  once  Nell 
slipped  in  noiselessly.  Even  this  last  event  aroused  no 
interest  in  Dick. 

On  the  next  day  he  was  very  much  improved. 

"We've  been  afraid  of  blood  poisoning,"  said  Belding. 
"But  my  wife  thinks  the  danger's  past.  You'll  have  to 
rest  that  arm  for  a  while." 

82 


A  DESERT  ROSE 

Ladd  and  Jim  came  peeping  in  at  the  door. 

"Come  in,  boys.  He  can  have  company — the  more  the 
better — if  it'll  keep  him  content.  He  mustn't  move, 
that's  all." 

The  cowboys  entered,  slow,  easy,  cool,  kind-voiced. 

"Shore  it's  tough,"  said  Ladd,  after  he  had  greeted 
Dick.  "You  look  used  up." 

Jim  Lash  wagged  his  half-bald,  sunburned  head. 
"Musta  been  more'n  tough  for  Rojas." 

"Gale,  Laddy  tells  me  one  of  our  neighbors,  fellow 
named  Carter,  is  going  to  Casita,"  put  in  Belding.  "Here's 
a  chance  to  get  word  to  your  friend  the  soldier." 

"Oh,  that  will  be  fine!"  exclaimed  Dick.  "I  declare 

I'd  forgotten  Thorne How  is  Miss  Castafieda  ?  I 

hope—" 

"She's  all  right,  Gale.  Been  up  and  around  the  patio 
for  two  days.  Like  all  the  Spanish — the  real  thing — she's 
made  of  Damascus  steel.  We've  been  getting  acquainted. 
She  and  Nell  made  friends  at  once.  I'll  call  them  in." 

He  closed  the  door  leading  out  into  the  yard,  explaining 
that  he  did  not  want  to  take  chances  of  Mercedes's  pres 
ence  becoming  known  to  neighbors.  Then  he  went  to 
the  patio  and  called. 

Both  girls  came  in,  Mercedes  leading.  Like  Nell,  she 
wore  white,  and  she  had  a  red  rose  in  her  hand.  Dick 
would  scarcely  have  recognized  anything  about  her  ex 
cept  her  eyes  and  the  way  she  carried  her  little  head, 
and  her  beauty  burst  upon  him  strange  and  anew.  She 
was  swift,  impulsive  in  her  movements  to  reach  his  side. 

"Sefior,  I  am  so  sorry  you  were  ill — so  happy  you  are 
better." 

Dick  greeted  her,  offering  his  left  hand,  gravely  apologiz 
ing  for  the  fact  that,  owing  to  a  late  infirmity,  he  could  not 
offer  the  right.  Her  smile  exquisitely  combined  sympathy, 
gratitude,  admiration.  Then  Dick  spoke  to  Nell,  like 
wise  offering  his  hand,  which  she  took  shyly.  Her  reply 
was  a  murmured,  unintelligible  one;  but  her  eyes  were 

83 


DESERT   GOLD 

glad,  and  the  tint  in  her  cheeks  threatened  to  rival  the 
hue  of  the  rose  she  carried. 

Everybody  chatted  then,  except  Nell,  who  had  appar 
ently  lost  her  voice.  Presently  Dick  remembered  to 
speak  of  the  matter  of  getting  news  to  Thorne. 

"Senor,  may  I  write  to  him?  Will  some  one  take  a 
letter?...!  shall  hear  from  him!"  she  said;  and  her 
white  hands  emphasized  her  words. 

"Assuredly.  I  guess  poor  Thorne  is  almost  crazy. 
I'll  write  to  him No,  I  can't  with  this  crippled  hand." 

"That  '11  be  all  right,  Gale,"  said  Belding.  "Nell  will 
write  for  you.  She  writes  all  my  letters." 

So  Belding  arranged  it ;  and  Mercedes  flew  away  to  her 
room  to  write,  while  Nell  fetched  pen  and  paper  and 
seated  herself  beside  Gale's  bed  to  take  his  dictation. 

What  with  watching  Nell  and  trying  to  catch  her 
glance,  and  listening  to  Belding's  talk  with  the  cowboys, 
Dick  was  hard  put  to  it  to  dictate  any  kind  of  a  creditable 
letter.  Nell  met  his  gaze  once,  then  no  more.  The 
color  came  and  went  in  her  cheeks,  and  sometimes,  when 
he  told  her  to  write  so  and  so,  there  was  a  demure  smile 
on  her  lips.  She  was  laughing  at  him.  And  Belding  was 
talking  over  the  risks  involved  in  a  trip  to  Casita. 

"Shore  I'll  ride  in  with  the  letters/'  Ladd  said. 

"No  you  won't,"  replied  Belding.  "That  bandit  out 
fit  will  be  laying  for  you." 

"Well,  I  reckon  if  they  was  I  wouldn't  be  oncommon 
grieved." 

"I'll  tell  you,  boys,  I'll  ride  in  myself  with  Carter. 
There's  business  I  can  see  to,  and  I'm  curious  to  know 
what  the  rebels  are  doing.  Laddy,  keep  one  eye  open 
while  I'm  gone.  See  the  horses  are  locked  up. . . .  Gale, 
I'm  going  to  Casita  myself.  Ought  to  get  back  to 
morrow  some  time.  I'll  be  ready  to  start  in  an  hour. 
Have  your  letter  ready.  And  say — if  you  want  to  write 
home  it's  a  chance.  Sometimes  we  don't  go  to  the  P.  O. 
in  a  month." 


A   DESERT  ROSE 

He  tramped  out,  followed  by  the  tall  cowboys,  and 
then  Dick  was  enabled  to  bring  his  letter  to  a  close. 
Mercedes  came  back,  and  her  eyes  were  shining.  Dick 
imagined  a  letter  received  from  her  would  be  something 
of  an  event  for  a  fellow.  Then,  remembering  Belding's 
suggestion,  he  decided  to  profit  by  it. 

"May  I  trouble  you  to  write  another  for  me?"  asked 
Dick,  as  he  received  the  letter  from  Nell. 

"It's  no  trouble,  I'm  sure — I'd  be  pleased,"  she  replied. 

That  was  altogether  a  wonderful  speech  of  hers,  Dick 
thought,  because  the  words  were  the  first  coherent  ones 
she  had  spoken  to  him. 

"May  I  stay?"  asked  Mercedes,  smiling. 

"By  all  means,"  he  answered,  and  then  he  settled  back 
and  began. 

Presently  Gale  paused,  partly  because  of  genuine  emo 
tion,  and  stole  a  look  from  under  his  hand  at  Nell.  She 
wrote  swiftly,  and  her  downcast  face  seemed  to  be  softer 
in  its  expression  of  sweetness.  If  she  had  in  the  very 
least  been  drawn  to  him —  But  that  was  absurd — im 
possible  ! 

When  Dick  finished  dictating,  his  eyes  were  upon  Mer 
cedes,  who  sat  smilingly  curious  and  sympathetic.  How 
responsive  she  was !  He  heard  the  hasty  scratch  of  Nell's 
pen.  He  looked  at  Nell.  Presently  she  rose,  holding  out 
his  letter.  He  was  just  in  time  to  see  a  wave  of  red  recede 
from  her  face.  She  gave  him  one  swift  gaze,  unconscious, 
searching,  then  averted  it  and  turned  away.  She  left 
the  room  with  Mercedes  before  he  could  express  his 
thanks. 

But  that  strange,  speaking  flash  of  eyes  remained  to 
haunt  and  torment  Gale.  It  was  indescribably  sweet, 
and  provocative  of  thoughts  that  he  believed  were  wild 
without  warrant.  Something  within  him  danced  for  very 
joy,  and  the  next  instant  he  was  conscious  of  wistful 
doubt,  a  gravity  that  he  could  not  understand.  It  dawned 
Upon  him  that  for  the  brief  instant  when  Nell  had  me* 

85 


DESERT   GOLD 

his  gaze  she  had  lost  her  shyness.  It  was  a  woman's 
questioning  eyes  that  had  pierced  through  him. 

During  the  rest  of  the  day  Gale  was  content  to  lie  still 
on  his  bed  thinking  and  dreaming,  dozing  at  intervals, 
and  watching  the  lights  change  upon  the  mountain  peaks, 
feeling  the  warm,  fragrant  desert  wind  that  blew  in  upon 
him.  He  seemed  to  have  lost  the  faculty  of  estimating 
time.  A  long  while,  strong  in  its  effect  upon  him,  ap 
peared  to  have'  passed  since  he  had  met  Thorne.  He  ac 
cepted  things  as  he  felt  them,  and  repudiated  his  intelli 
gence.  His  old  inquisitive  habit  of  mind  returned.  Did 
he  love  Nell?  Was  he  only  attracted  for  the  moment? 
What  was  the  use  of  worrying  about  her  or  himself  ?  He 
refused  to  answer,  and  deliberately  gave  himself  up  to 
dreams  of  her  sweet  face  and  of  that  last  dark-blue  glance. 

Next  day  he  believed  he  was  well  enough  to  leave  his 
room ;  but  Mrs.  Belding  would  not  permit  him  to  do  so. 
She  was  kind,  soft-handed,  motherly,  and  she  was  always 
coming  in  to  minister  to  his  comfort.  This  attention  was 
sincere,  not  in  the  least  forced;  yet  Gale  felt  that  the 
friendliness  so  manifest  in  the  others  of  the  household 
did  not  extend  to  her.^  He  was  conscious  of  something 
that  a  little  thought  persuaded  him  was  antagonism.  It 
surprised  and  hurt  him.  He  had  never  been  much  of  a 
success  with  girls  and  young  married  women,  but  their 
mothers  and  old  people  had  generally  been  fond  of  him. 
Still,  though  Mrs.  Belding's  hair  was  snow-white,  she  did 
not  impress  him  as  being  old.  He  reflected  that  there 
might  come  a  time  when  it  would  be  desirable,  far  beyond 
any  ground  of  every-day  friendly  kindliness,  to  have  Mrs. 
Belding  be  well  disposed  toward  him.  So  he  thought 
about  her,  and  pondered  how  to  make  her  like  him.  It 
did  not  take  very  long  for  Dick  to  discover  that  he  liked 
her.  Her  face,  except  when  she  smiled,  was  thoughtful 
and  sad.  But  it  seemed  too  strong,  too  intense,  too 
nobly  lined.  It  was  a  face  to  make  one  serious.  Like  a 
haunting  shadow,  like  a  phantom  of  happier  years,  the 

86 


A  DESERT  ROSE 

sweetness  of  Nell's  face  was  there,  and  infinitely  more  of 
beauty  than  had  been  transmitted  to  the  daughter.  Dick 
believed  Mrs.  Belding's  friendship  and  motherly  love  were 
worth  much  striving  to  win,  entirely  aside  from  any  more 
selfish  motive.  He  decided  both  would  be  hard  to  get. 
Often  he  felt  her  deep,  penetrating  gaze  upon  him ;  and, 
though  this  in  no  wise  embarrassed  him — for  he  had  no 
shameful  secrets  of  past  or  present — it  showed  him  how 
useless  it  would  be  to  try  to  conceal  anything  from  her. 
Naturally,  on  first  impulse,  he  wanted  to  hide  his  interest 
in  the  daughter;  but  he  resolved  to  be  absolutely  frank 
and  true,  and  through  that  win  or  lose.  Moreover,  if 
Mrs.  Belding  asked  him  any  questions  about  his  home, 
his  family,  his  connections,  he  would  not  avoid  direct  and 
truthful  answers. 

Toward  evening  Gale  heard  the  tramp  of  horses  and 
Belding's  hearty  voice.  Presently  the  rancher  strode  in 
upon  Gale,  shaking  the  gray  dust  from  his  broad  shoul 
ders  and  waving  a  letter. 

"Hello,  Dick!  Good  news  and  bad!"  he  said,  putting 
the  letter  in  Dick's  hand.  "Had  no  trouble  finding  your 
friend  Thorne.  Looked  like  he'd  been  drunk  for  a  week ! 
Say,  he  nearly  threw  a  fit.  I  never  saw  a  fellow  so  wild 
with  joy.  He  made  sure  you  and  Mercedes  were  lost  in 
the  desert.  He  wrote  two  letters  which  I  brought.  Don't 
mistake  me,  boy,  it  was  some  fun  with  Mercedes  just  now. 
I  teased  her,  wouldn't  give  her  the  letter.  You  ought  t& 
have  seen  her  eyes.  If  ever  you  see  a  black-and-white 
desert  hawk  swoop  down  upon  a  quail,  then  you'll  know 
how  Mercedes  pounced  upon  her  letter. . . .  Well,  Casit? 
is  one  hell  of  a  place  these  days.  I  tried  to  get  your 
baggage,  and  think  I  made  a  mistake.  We're  going  to  see 
travel  toward  Forlorn  River.  The  federal  garrison  got 
reinforcements  from  somewhere,  and  is  holding  out. 
There's  been  fighting  for  three  days.  The  rebels  have 
a  string  of  flat  railroad  cars,  all  iron,  and  they  ran  this 
up  within  range  of  the  barricades.  They've  got  some 

87 


DESERT   GOLD 

machine  guns,  and  they're  going  to  lick  the  federals  sure. 
There  are  dead  soldiers  in  the  ditches,  Mexican  non- 
combatants  lying  dead  in  the  streets — and  buzzards 
everywhere!  It's  reported  that  Campo,  the  rebel  leader, 
is  on  the  way  up  from  Sinaloa,  and  Huerta,  a  federal  gen 
eral,  is  coming  to  relieve  the  garrison.  I  don't  take  much 
stock  in  reports.  But  there's  hell  in  Casita,  all  right." 

"Do  you  think  we'll  have  trouble  out  here?"  asked 
Dick,  excitedly. 

"Sure.  Some  kind  of  trouble  sooner  or  later,"  replied 
Belding,  gloomily.  "Why,  you  can  stand  on  my  ranch 
and  step  over  into  Mexico.  Laddy  says  we'll  lose  horses 
c\nd  other  stock  in  night  raids.  Jim  Lash  doesn't  look  for 
any  worse.  But  Jim  isn't  as  well  acquainted  with  Greasers 
as  I  am.  Anyway,  my  boy,  as  soon  as  you  can  hold  a 
bridle  and  a  gun  you'll  be  on  the  job,  don't  mistake  me." 

"With  Laddy  and  Jim  ?"  asked  Dick,  trying  to  be  cool. 

"Sure.    With  them  and  me,  and  by  yourself/1 

Dick  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  even  after  Belding  had 
departed  he  forgot  for  a  moment  about  the  letter  in  his 
hand.  Then  he  unfolded  the  paper  and  read: 

DEAR  DICK, — You've  more  than  saved  my  life.  To  the  end  of 
my  days  you'll  be  the  one  man  to  whom  I  owe  everything.  Words 
fail  to  express  my  feelings. 

This  must  be  a  brief  note.  Belding  is  waiting,  and  I  used  up 
most  of  the  time  writing  to  Mercedes.  I  like  Belding.  He  was 
not  unknown  to  me,  though  I  never  met  or  saw  him  before. 
You'll  be  interested  to  learn  that  he's  the  unadulterated  article, 
the  real  Western  goods.  I've  heard  of  some  of  his  stunts,  and 
they  made  my  hair  curl.  Dick,  your  luck  is  staggering.  The  way 
Belding  spoke  of  you  was  great.  But  you  deserve  it,  old  man. 

I'm  leaving  Mercedes  in  your  charge,  subject,  of  course,  to 
advice  from  Belding.  Take  care  of  her,  Dick,  for  my  life  is 
wrapped  up  in  her.  By  all  means  keep  her  from  being  seen  by 
Mexicans.  We  are  sitting  tight  here — nothing  doing.  If  some 
action  doesn't  come  soon,  it  '11  be  darned  strange.  Things  are  cen 
tering  this  way.  There's  scrapping  right  along,  and  people  have 
begun  to  move.  We're  still  patrolling  the  line  eastward  of  Casita. 
It  '11  be  impossible  to  keep  any  tab  on  the  line  west  of  fasita,  for 

88 


A  DESERT  ROSE 

it's  too  rough.  That  cactus  desert  is  awful.  Cowboys  or  rangers 
with  desert-bred  horses  might  keep  raiders  and  smugglers  from 
crossing.  But  if  cavalrymen  could  stand  that  waterless  wilder 
ness,  which  I  doubt  much,  their  horses  would  drop  under  them. 

If  things  do  quiet  down  before  my  commission  expires,  I'll 
get  leave  of  absence,  run  out  to  Forlorn  River,  marry  my  beauti 
ful  Spanish  princess,  and  take  her  to  a  civilized  country,  where, 
I  opine,  every  son  of  a  gun  who  sees  her  will  lose  his  head,  and 
drive  me  mad.  It's  my  great  luck,  old  pal,  that  you  are  a  fellow 
who  never  seemed  to  care  about  pretty  girls.  So  you  won't  give 
me  the  double  cross  and  run  off  with  Mercedes — carry  her  off, 
like  the  villain  in  the  play,  I  mean. 

That  reminds  me  of  Rojas.  Oh,  Dick,  it  was  glorious!  You 
didn't  do  anything  to  the  Dandy  Rebel !  Not  at  all !  You  merely 
caressed  him — gently  moved  him  to  one  side.  Dick,  harken  to 
these  glad  words:  Rojas  is  in  the  hospital.  I  was  interested  toi 
inquire.  He  had  a  smashed  finger,  a  dislocated  collar  bone,  three 
broken  ribs,  and  a  fearful  gash  on  his  face.  He'll  be  in  the  hos 
pital  for  a  month.  Dick,  when  I  meet  that  pig-headed  dad  of 
yours  I'm  going  to  give  him  the  surprise  of  his  life. 

Send  rne  a  line  whenever  any  one  comes  in  from  F.  R.,  and  in 
close  Mercedes's  letter  in  yours.  Take  care  of  her,  Dick,  and  may 
the  future  hold  in  store  for  you  some  of  the  sweetness  I  know  now ! 

Faithfully  yours, 

THORN 

Dick  reread  the  letter,  then  folded  it  and  pmced  it 
under  his  pillow. 

"Never  cared  for  pretty  girls,  huh?"  he  soliloquized. 
"George,  I  never  saw  any  till  I  struck  Southern  Arizona ! 
Guess  I'd  better  make  up  for  lost  time." 

While  he  was  eating  his  supper,  with  appetite  rapidly 
returning  to  normal,  Ladd  and  Jim  came  in,  bowing  their 
tall  heads  to  enter  the  door.  Their  friendly  advances 
were  singularly  welcome  to  Gale,  but  he  was  still  back 
ward.  He  allowed  himself  to  show  that  he  was  glad  to 
see  them,  and  he  listened.  Jim  Lash  had  heard  from 
Belding  the  result  of  the  mauling  given  to  Rojas  by  Dick. 
And  Jim  talked  about  what  a  grand  thing  that  was. 
Ladd  had  a  good  deal  to  say  about  Belding's  horses.  It 
took  no  keen  judge  of  human  nature  to  see  that  horses 
constituted  Ladd's  ruling  passion. 

89 


DESERT   GOLD 

"I've  had  wimmen  go  back  on  me,  but  never  no  hoss  !M 
declared  Ladd,  and  manifestly  that  was  a  controlling 
truth  with  him. 

"Shore  it's  a  cinch  Beldin'  is  agoin'  to  lose  some  of 
them  bosses,"  he  said.  "You  can  search  me  if  I  don't 
think  there'll  be  more  doin'  on  the  border  here  than 
along  the  Rio  Grande.  We're  just  the  same  as  on  Greaser 
soil.  Mebbe  we  don't  stand  no  such  chance  of  bein' 
shot  up  as  we  would  across  the  line.  But  who's  goin'  to 
give  up  his  hosses  without  a  fight?  Half  the  time  when 
Beldin's  stock  is  out  of  the  alfalfa  it's  grazin'  over  the 
line.  He  thinks  he's  careful  about  them  hosses,  but  he 
ain't." 

"Look  a-here,  Laddy ;  you  cain't  believe  all  you  hear," 
replied  Jim,  seriously.  "I  reckon  we  mightn't  have  any 
frrouble." 

"Back  up,  Jim.  Shore  you're  standin'  on  your  bridle. 
I  ain't  goin'  much  on  reports.  Remember  that  American 
we  met  in  Casita,  the  prospector  who'd  just  gotten  out  of 
Sonora?  He  had  some  story,  he  had.  Swore  he'd  killed 
seventeen  Greasers  breakin'  through  the  rebel  line  round 
the  mine  where  he  an'  other  Americans  were  corralled. 
The  next  day  when  I  met  him  again,  he  was  drunk,  an* 
then  he  told  me  he'd  shot  thirty  Greasers.  The  chances 
are  he  did  kill  some.  But  reports  are  exaggerated. 
There  are  miners  fightin'  for  life  down  in  Sonora,  you  can 
gamble  on  that.  An'  the  truth  is  bad  enough.  Take 
Rojas's  harryin'  of  the  Senorita,  for  instance.  Can  you 
beat  that?  Shore,  Jim,  there's  more  doin'  than  the  raid- 
in*  of  a  few  hosses.  An*  Forlorn  River  is  goin'  to  get 
hers!" 

Another  dawn  found  Gale  so  much  recovered  that  he 
arose  and  looked  after  himself,  not,  however,  without 
considerable  difficulty  and  rather  disheartening  twinges 
of  pain. 

Some  time  during  the  morning  he  heard  the  girls  in  the 
patio  and  called  to  ask  if  he  might  join  them.  He  re- 
go 


A  DESERT  ROSE 

ceived  one  response,  a  mellow,  "Si,  senor."  It  was  not 
as  much  as  he  wanted,  but  considering  that  it  was  enough, 
he  went  out.  He  had  not  as  yet  visited  the  patio,  and 
surprise  and  delight  were  in  store  for  him.  He  found 
himself  lost  in  a  labyrinth  of  green  and  rose-bordered 
walks.  He  strolled  around,  discovering  that  the  patio 
was  a  courtyard,  open  at  an  end ;  but  he  failed  to  discover 
the  young  ladies.  So  he  called  again.  The  answer  came 
from  the  center  of  the  square.  After  stooping  to  get 
under  shrubs  and  wading  through  bushes  he  entered  an 
open  sandy  circle,  full  of  magnificent  and  murderous 
cactus  plants,  strange  to  him.  On  the  other  side,  in  the 
shade  of  a  beautiful  tree,  he  found  the  girls,  Mercedes 
sitting  in  a  hammock,  Nell  upon  a  blanket. 

"What  a  beautiful  tree !"  he  exclaimed.  "I  never  saw 
one  like  that.  What  is  it?" 

"Palo  verde,"  replied  Nell. 

"Senor,  palo  verde  means  'green  tree/  " added  Mercedes. 

This  desert  tree,  which  had  struck  Dick  as  so  new  and 
strange  and  beautiful,  was  not  striking  on  account  of 
size,  for  it  was  small,  scarcely  reaching  higher  than  the 
roof;  but  rather  because  of  its  exquisite  color  of  green, 
trunk  and  branch  alike,  and  owing  to  the  odd  fact  that 
it  seemed  not  to  possess  leaves.  All  the  tree  from  ground 
to  tiny  flat  twigs  was  a  soft  polished  green.  It  bore  no 
thorns. 

Right  then  and  there  began  Dick's  education  in  desert 
growths;  and  he  felt  that  even  if  he  had  not  had  such 
charming  teachers  he  would  still  have  been  absorbed. 
For  the  patio  was  full  of  desert  wonders.  A  twisting- 
trunked  tree  with  full  foliage  of  small  gray  leaves  Nell 
called  a  mesquite.  Then  Dick  remembered  the  name, 
and  now  he  saw  where  the  desert  got  its  pale-gray  color. 
A  huge,  lofty,  fluted  column  of  green  was  a  saguaro,  or 
giant  cactus.  Another  odd-shaped  cactus,  resembling 
the  legs  of  an  inverted  devil-fish,  bore  the  name  ocatillo. 
Each  branch  rose  high  and  symmetrical,  furnished  with 

91 


DESERT   GOLD 

sharp  blades  that  seemed  to  be  at  once  leaves  and  thorns. 
Yet  another  cactus  interested  Gale,  and  it  looked  like  a 
huge,  low  barrel  covered  with  green-ribbed  cloth  and  long 
thorns.  This  was  the  bisnaga,  or  barrel  cactus.  According 
to  Nell  and  Mercedes,  this  plant  was  a  happy  exception 
to  its  desert  neighbors,  for  it  secreted  water  which  had 
many  times  saved  the  lives  of  men.  Last  of  the  cacti  to 
attract  Gale,  and  the  one  to  make  him  shiver,  was  a  low 
plant,  consisting  of  stem  and  many  rounded  protuber 
ances  of  a  frosty,  steely  white,  and  covered  with  long, 
murderous  spikes.  From  this  plant  the  desert  got  its 
frosty  glitter.  It  was  as  stiff,  as  unyielding  as  steel,  and 
bore  the  name  choya. 

Dick's  enthusiasm  was  contagious,  and  his  earnest  de 
sire  to  learn  was  flattering  to  his  teachers.  When  it  came 
to  assimilating  Spanish,  however,  he  did  not  appear  to  be 
so  apt  a  pupil.  He  managed,  after  many  trials,  to  acquire 
"buenos  dias"  and  "buenos  tardes"  and  "senorita"  and 
"gracias"  and  a  few  other  short  terms.  Dick  was  indeed 
eager  to  get  a  little  smattering  of  Spanish,  and  perhaps 
he  was  not  really  quite  so  stupid  as  he  pretended  to  be. 
It  was  delightful  to  be  taught  by  a  beautiful  Spaniard 
who  was  so  gracious  and  intense  and  magnetic  of  per 
sonality,  and  by  a  sweet  American  girl  who  moment  by 
moment  forgot  her  shyness.  Gale  wished  to  prolong  the 
lessons. 

So  that  was  the  beginning  of  many  afternoons  in  which 
he  learned  desert  lore  and  Spanish  verbs,  and  something 
else  that  he  dared  not  name. 

Nell  Burton  had  never  shown  to  Gale  that  daring  side 
of  her  character  which  had  been  so  suggestively  defined 
!n  Belding's  terse  description  and  Ladd's  encomiums,  and 
in  her  own  audacious  speech  and  merry  laugh  and  flash 
ing  eye  of  that  never-to-be-forgotten  first  meeting.  She 
might  have  been  an  entirely  different  girl.  But  Gale 
remembered;  and  when  the  ice  had  been  somewhat 
broken  between  them,  he  was  always  trying  to  surprise 

92 


A  DESERT  ROSE 

her  into  her  real  self.  There  were  moments  that  fairly 
made  him  tingle  with  expectation.  Yet  he  saw  little 
more  than  a  ghost  of  her  vivacity,  and  never  a  gleam  of 
that  individuality  which  Belding  had  called  a  devil.  On 
the  few  occasions  that  Dick  had  been  left  alone  with  her 
in  the  patio  Nell  had  grown  suddenly  unresponsive  and 
restrained,  or  she  had  left  him  on  some  transparent  pre 
text.  On  the  last  occasion  Mercedes  returned  to  find 
Dick  staring  disconsolately  at  the  rose-bordered  path, 
where  Nell  had  evidently  vanished.  The  Spanish  girl 
was  wonderful  in  her  divination. 

"Senor  Dick!"  she  cried. 

Dick  looked  at  her,  soberly  nodded  his  head,  and  then 
he  laughed.  Mercedes  had  seen  through  him  in  one  swift 
glance.  Her  white  hand  touched  his  in  wordless  sym 
pathy  and  thrilled  him.  This  Spanish  girl  was  all  fire  and 
passion  and  love.  She  understood  him,  she  was  his  friend, 
she  pledged  him  what  he  felt  would  be  the  most  subtle 
and  powerful  influence. 

Little  by  little  he  learned  details  of  Nell's  varied  life. 
She  had  lived  in  many  places.  As  a  child  she  remembered 
moving  from  town  to  town,  of  going  to  school  among 
schoolmates  whom  she  never  had  time  to  know.  Law 
rence,  Kansas,  where  she  studied  for  several  years,  was 
the  later  exception  to  this  changeful  nature  of  her  school 
ing.  Then  she  moved  to  Stillwater,  Oklahoma,  from 
there  to  Austin,  Texas,  and  on  to  Waco,  where  her 
mother  met  and  married  Belding.  They  lived  in  New 
Mexico  awhile,  in  Tucson,  Arizona,  in  Douglas,  and 
finally  had  come  to  lonely  Forlorn  River. 

"Mother  could  never  live  in  one  place  any  length  of 
time,"  said  Nell.  "And  since  we've  been  in  the  South 
west  she  has  never  ceased  trying  to  find  some  trace  of  her 
father.  He  was  last  heard  of  in  Nogales  fourteen  years 
ago.  She  thinks  grandfather  was  lost  in  the  Sonora 
Desert. . . .  And  every  place  we  go  is  worse.  Oh,  I  love 
the  desert.  But  I'd  like  to  go  back  to  Lawrence — or  to 

93 


DESERT   GOLD 

see  Chicago  or  New  York— some  of  the  places  Mr.  Gale 
speaks  of. ...  I  remember  the  college  at  Lawrence, 
though  I  was  only  twelve.  I  saw  races — and  once  real 
football.  Since  then  I've  read  magazines  and  papers 
about  big  football  games,  and  I  was  always  fascinated 
....  Mr.  Gale,  of  course,  you've  seen  games  ?" 

"Yes,  a  few,"  replied  Dick;  and  he  laughed  a  little. 
It  was  on  his  lips  then  to  tell  her  about  some  of  the 
famous  games  in  which  he  had  participated.  But  he  re 
frained  from  exploiting  himself.  There  was  little,  how 
ever,  of  the  color  and  sound  and  cheer,  of  the  violent 
action  and  rush  and  battle  incidental  to  a  big  college 
football  game  that  he  did  not  succeed  in  making  Mer 
cedes  and  Nell  feel  just  as  if  they  had  been  there.  They 
hung  'breathless  and  wide-eyed  upon  his  words. 

Some  one  else  was  present  at  the  latter  part  of  Dick's 
narrative.  The  moment  he  became  aware  of  Mrs.  Beld- 
ing's  presence  he  remembered  fancying  he  had  heard  her 
call,  and  now  he  was  certain  she  had  done  so.  Mercedes 
and  Nell,  however,  had  been  and  still  were  oblivious  to 
Everything  except  Dick's  recital.  He  saw  Mrs.  Belding 
fast  a  strange,  intent  glance  upon  Nell,  then  turn  and  go 
silently  through  the  patio.  Dick  concluded  his  talk,  but 
the  brilliant  beginning  was  not  sustained. 

Dick  was  haunted  by  the  strange  expression  he  had 
caught  on  Mrs.  Belding's  face,  especially  the  look  in  her 
eyes.  It  had  been  one  of  repressed  pain  liberated  in  a 
flash  of  certainty.  The  mother  had  seen  just  as  quickly 
as  Mercedes  how  far  he  had  gone  on  the  road  of  love. 
Perhaps  she  had  seen  more — even  more  than  he  dared 
hope.  The  incident  roused  Gale.  He  could  not  under 
stand  Mrs.  Belding,  nor  why  that  look  of  hers,  that 
seeming  baffled,  hopeless  look  of  a  woman  who  saw  the 
inevitable  forces  of  life  and  could  not  thwart  them,  should 
cause  him  perplexity  and  distress.  He  wanted  to  go  to  her 
and  tell  her  how  he  felt  about  Nell,  but  fear  of  absolute 
destruction  of  his  hopes  held  him  back.  He  would  wait 

94 


A  DESERT  ROSE 

Nevertheless,  an  instinct  that  was  perhaps  akin  to  self- 
preservation  prompted  him  to  want  to  let  Nell  know  the 
state  of  his  mind.  Words  crowded  his  brain  seeking 
utterance.  Who  and  what  he  was,  how  he  loved  her,  the 
work  he  expected  to  take  up  soon,  his  longings,  hopes, 
and  plans— there  was  all  this  and  more.  But  something 
checked  him.  And  the  repression  made  him  so  thought 
ful  and  quiet,  even  melancholy,  that  he  went  outdoors  to 
try  to  throw  off  the  mood.  The  sun  was  yet  high,  and  a 
dazzling  white  light  enveloped  valleys  and  peaks.  He  felt 
that  the  wonderful  sunshine  was  the  dominant  feature  of 
that  arid  region.  It  was  like  white  gold.  It  had  burned 
its  color  in  a  face  he  knew.  It  was  going  to  warm  his 
blood  and  brown  his  skin.  A  hot,  languid  breeze,  so  dry 
that  he  felt  his  lips  shrink  with  its  contact,  came  from 
the  desert;  and  it  seemed  to  smell  of  wide-open,  un 
tainted  places  where  sand  blew  and  strange,  pungent 
plants  gave  a  bitter-sweet  tang  to  the  air. 

When  he  returned  to  the  house,  some  hours  later,  his 
room  had  been  put  in  order.  In  the  middle  of  the  white 
coverlet  on  his  table  lay  a  fresh  red  rose.  Nell  had  dropped 
it  there.  Dick  picked  it  up,  feeling  a  throb  in  his  breast. 
It  was  a  bud  just  beginning  to  open,  to  show  between  its 
petals  a  dark-red,  unfolding  heart.  How  fragrant  it  was, 
how  exquisitely  delicate,  how  beautiful  its  inner  hue  of 
red,  deep  and  dark,  the  crimson  of  life  blood ! 

Had  Nell  left  it  there  by  accident  or  by  intent?  Was 
it  merely  kindness  or  a  girl's  subtlety?  Was  it  a  message 
couched  elusively,  a  symbol,  a  hope  in  a  half-blown  desert 
rose? 


VI 

THE  YAQUI 

TOWARD  evening  of  a  lowering  December  day,  some 
fifty  miles  west  of  Forlorn  River,  a  horseman  rode 
along  an  old,  dimly  defined  trail.  From  time  to  time  he 
halted  to  study  the  lay  of  the  land  ahead.  It  was  bare, 
somber,  ridgy  desert,  covered  with  dun-colored  grease- 
wood  and  stunted  prickly  pear.  Distant  mountains 
hemmed  in  the  valley,  raising  black  spurs  above  the 
round  lomas  and  the  square-walled  mesas. 

This  lonely  horseman  bestrode  a  steed  of  magnificent 
build,  perfectly  white  except  for  a  dark  bar  of  color  run 
ning  down  the  noble  head  from  ears  to  nose.  Sweat- 
caked  dust  stained  the  long  flanks.  The  horse  had  been 
running.  His  mane  and  tail  were  laced  and  knotted  to 
keep  their  length  out  of  reach  of  grasping  cactus  and 
brush.  Clumsy  home-made  leather  shields  covered  the 
front  of  his  forelegs  and  ran  up  well  to  his  wide  breast. 
What  otherwise  would  have  been  muscular  symmetry  of 
limb  was  marred  by  many  a  scar  and  many  a  lump.  He 
was  lean,  gaunt,  worn,  a  huge  machine  of  muscle  and 
bone,  beautiful  only  in  head  and  mane,  a  weight-carrier,  a 
horse  strong  and  fierce  like  the  desert  that  had  bred  him. 

The  rider  fitted  the  horse  as  he  fitted  the  saddle.  He 
was  a  young  man  of  exceedingly  powerful  physique,  wide- 
shouldered,  long-armed,  big-legged.  His  lean  face,  where 
it  was  not  red,  blistered  and  peeling,  was  the  hue  of  bronze. 
He  had  a  dark  eye,  a  falcon  gaze,  roving  and  keen.  His 
jaw  was  prominent  and  set,  mastiff -like ;  his  lips  were 
stem.  It  was  youth  with  its  softness  not  yet  quite  burned 

96 


THE  YAQUI 

and  hardened  away  that  kept  the  whole  cast  of  his  face 
from  being  ruthless. 

This  young  man  was  Dick  Gale,  but  not  the  listless 
traveler,  nor  the  lounging  wanderer  who,  two  months  be 
fore,  had  by  chance  dropped  into  Casita.  Friendship, 
chivalry,  love — the  deep-seated,  unplumbed  emotions 
that  had  been  stirred  into  being  with  all  their  incalculable 
power  for  spiritual  change,  had  rendered  different  the 
meaning  of  life.  In  the  moment  almost  of  their  realization 
the  desert  had  claimed  Gale,  and  had  drawn  him  into  its 
crucible.  The  desert  had  multiplied  weeks  into  years. 
Heat,  thirst,  hunger,  loneliness,  toil,  fear,  ferocity,  pain 
i — he  knew  them  all.  He  had  felt  them  all — the  white 
sun,  with  its  glazed,  coalescing,  lurid  fire ;  the  caked  split 
lips  and  rasping,  dry-puffed  tongue;  the  sickening  ache 
in  the  pit  of  his  stomach;  the  insupportable  silence,  the 
empty  space,  the  utter  desolation,  the  contempt  of  life; 
the  weary  ride,  the  long  climb,  the  plod  in  sand,  the  search, 
search,  search  for  water;  the  sleepless  night  alone,  the 
watch  and  wait,  the  dread  of  ambush,  the  swift  flight; 
the  fierce  pursuit  of  men  wild  as  Bedouins  and  as  fleet, 
the  willingness  to  deal  sudden  death,  the  pain  of  poison 
thorn,  the  stinging  tear  of  lead  through  flesh;  and  that 
strange  paradox  of  the  burning  desert,  the  cold  at  night, 
the  piercing  icy  wind,  the  dew  that  penetrated  to  the 
marrow,  the  numbing  desert  cold  of  the  dawn. 

Beyond  any  dream  of  adventure  he  had  ever  had,  be 
yond  any  wild  story  he  had  ever  read,  had  been  his  ex 
perience  with  those  hard-riding  rangers,  Ladd  and  Lash. 
Then  he  had  traveled  alone  the  hundred  miles  of  desert 
between  Forlorn  River  and  the  Sonoyta  Oasis.  Ladd's 
prophecy  of  trouble  on  the  border  had  been  mild  com 
pared  to  what  had  become  the  actuality.  With  rebel 
occupancy  of  the  garrison  at  Casita,  outlaws,  bandits, 
raiders  in  rioting  bands  had  spread  westward.  Like 
troops  of  Arabs,  magnificently  mounted,  they  were  here, 
there,  everywhere  along  the  line ;  and  if  murder  and  worse 

97 


DESERT   GOLD 

were  confined  to  the  Mexican  side,  pillage  and  raiding 
were  perpetrated  across  the  border.  Many  a  dark- 
skinned  raider  bestrode  one  of  Belding's  fast  horses ;  and, 
indeed,  all  except  his  selected  white  thoroughbreds  had 
been  stolen.  So  the  job  of  the  rangers  had  become  more 
than  a  patrolling  of  the  boundary  line  to  keep  Japanese 
and  Chinese  from  being  smuggled  into  the  United  States. 
Belding  kept  close  at  home  to  protect  his  family  and  to 
hold  his  property.  But  the  three  rangers,  in  fulfilling 
their  duty,  had  incurred  risks  on  their  own  side  of  the  line, 
had  been  outraged,  robbed,  pursued,  and  injured  on  the 
other.  Some  of  the  few  waterholes  that  had  to  be 
reached  lay  far  across  the  border  in  Mexican  territory. 
Horses  had  to  drink,  men  had  to  drink;  and  Ladd  and 
Lash  were  not  of  the  stripe  that  forsook  a  task  because 
of  danger.  Slow  to  wrath  at  first,  as  became  men  who 
had  long  lived  peaceful  lives,  they  had  at  length  revolted ; 
and  desert  vultures  could  have  told  a  gruesome  story. 
Made  a  comrade  and  ally  of  these  bordermen,  Dick  Gale 
had  leaped  at  the  desert  action  and  strife  with  an  intensity 
of  heart  and  a  rare  physical  ability  which  accounted  for 
the  remarkable  fact  that  he  had  not  yet  fallen  by  the  way. 

On  this  December  afternoon  the  three  rangers,  as  often, 
were  separated.  Lash  was  far  to  the  westward  of  Sonoyta, 
somewhere  along  Camino  del  Diablo,  that  terrible  Devil's 
Road,  where  many  desert  wayfarers  had  perished.  Ladd 
had  long  been  overdue  in  a  prearranged  meeting  with 
Gale.  The  fact  that  Ladd  had  not  shown  up  miles  west 
of  the  Papago  Well  was  significant. 

The  sun  had  hidden  behind  clouds  all  the  latter  part 
of  that  day,  an  unusual  occurrence  for  that  region  even 
in  winter.  And  now,  as  the  light  waned  suddenly,  tell 
ing  of  the  hidden  sunset,  a  cold,  dry,  penetrating  wind 
sprang  up  and  blew  in  Gale's  face.  Not  at  first,  but  by 
imperceptible  degrees  it  chilled  him.  He  untied  his  coat 
from  the  back  of  the  saddle  and  put  it  on.  A  few  cold 
drops  of  rain  touched  his  cheek. 


THE  YAQUI 

He  halted  upon  the  edge  of  a  low  escarpment.  Below 
him  the  narrowing  valley  showed  bare,  black  ribs  of  rock, 
long,  winding  gray  lines  leading  down  to  a  central  floor 
where  mesquite  and  cactus  dotted  the  barren  landscape. 
Moving  objects,  diminutive  in  size,  gray  and  white  in 
color,  arrested  Gale's  roving  sight.  They  bobbed  away 
for  a  while,  then  stopped.  They  were  antelope,  and  they 
had  seen  his  horse.  When  he  rode  on  they  started  once 
more,  keeping  to  the  lowest  level.  These  wary  animals 
were  often  desert  watchdogs  for  the  ranger ;  they  would 
betray  the  proximity  of  horse  or  man.  With  them  trot 
ting  forward,  he  made  better  time  for  some  miles  across 
the  valley.  When  he  lost  them,  caution  once  more  slowed 
his  advance. 

The  valley  sloped  up  and  narrowed,  to  head  into  an 
arroyo  where  grass  began  to  show  gray  between  the 
clumps  of  mesquite.  Shadows  formed  ahead  in  the  hol 
lows,  along  the  walls  of  the  arroyo,  under  the  trees,  and 
they  seemed  to  creep,  to  rise,  to  float  into  a  veil  cast  by 
the  background  of  bold  mountains,  at  last  to  claim  the 
skyline.  Night  was  not  close  at  hand ;  but  it  was  there  in 
the  east,  lifting  upward,  drooping  downward,  encroach 
ing  upon  the  west. 

Gale  dismounted  to  lead  his  horse,  to  go  forward  more 
slowly.  He  had  ridden  sixty  miles  since  morning,  and  he 
was  tired,  and  a  not  entirely  healed  wound  in  his  hip 
made  one  leg  drag  a  little.  A  mile  up  the  arroyo,  near  its 
head,  lay  the  Papago  Well.  The  need  of  water  for  his 
horse  entailed  a  risk  that  otherwise  he  could  have  avoided. 
The  well  was  on  Mexican  soil.  Gale  distinguished  a  faint 
light  flickering  through  the  thin,  sharp  foliage.  Campers 
were  at  the  well,  and,  whoever  they  were,  no  doubt  they 
had  prevented  Ladd  from  meeting  Gale.  Ladd  had  gone 
back  to  the  next  waterhole,  or  maybe  he  was  hiding  in 
an  arroyo  to  the  eastward,  awaiting  developments. 

Gale  turned  his  horse,  not  without  urge  of  iron  arm  and 
persuasive  speech,  for  the  desert  steed  scented  water, 

99 


DESERT   GOLD 

and  plodded  back  to  the  edge  of  the  arroyo,  where  in  a 
secluded  circle  of  mesquite  he  halted.  The  horse  snorted 
his  relief  at  the  removal  of  the  heavy,  burdened  saddle 
and  accoutrements,  and  sagging,  bent  his  knees,  low 
ered  himself  with  slow  heave,  and  plunged  down  to  roll 
in  the  sand.  Gale  poured  the  contents  of  his  larger 
canteen  into  his  hat  and  held  it  to  the  horse's  nose. 

"Drink,  Sol,"  he  said. 

It  was  but  a  drop  for  a  thirsty  horse.  However, 
Blanco  Sol  rubbed  a  wet  muzzle  against  Gale's  hand  in 
appreciation.  Gale  loved  the  horse,  and  was  loved  in 
return.  They  had  saved  each  other's  lives,  and  had  spent 
long  days  and  nights  of  desert  solitude  together.  Sol 
had  known  other  masters,  though  none  so  kind  as  this 
new  one ;  but  it  was  certain  that  Gale  had  never  before 
known  a  horse. 

The  spot  of  secluded  ground  was  covered  with  bunches 
of  galleta  grass  upon  which  Sol  began  to  graze.  Gale 
made  a  long  halter  of  his  lariat  to  keep  the  horse  from 
wandering  in  search  of  water.  Next  Gale  kicked  off  the 
cumbersome  chapparejos,  with  their  flapping,  tripping 
folds  of  leather  over  his  feet,  and  drawing  a  long  rifle 
from  its  saddle  sheath,  he  slipped  away  into  the  shadows. 

The  coyotes  were  howling,  not  here  and  there,  but  in 
concerted  volume  at  the  head  of  the  arroyo.  To  Dick 
this  was  no  more  reassuring  than  had  been  the  flickering 
light  of  the  campfire.  The  wild  desert  dogs,  with  their 
characteristic  insolent  curiosity,  were  baying  men  round 
a  campfire.  Gale  proceeded  slowly,  halting  every  few 
steps,  careful  not  to  brush  against  the  stiff  greasewood. 
In  the  soft  sand  his  steps  made  no  sound.  The  twinkling 
light  vanished  occasionally,  like  a  Jack-oMantern,  and 
when  it  did  show  it  seemed  still  a  long  way  off.  Gale  was 
not  seeking  trouble  or  inviting  danger.  Water  was  the 
thing  that  drove  him.  He  must  see  who  these  campers 
were,  and  then  decide  how  to  give  Blanco  Sol  a  drink. 
A  rabbit  rustled  out  of  brush  at  Gale's  feet  and  thumped 

100 


THE  YAQUI 

away  over  the  sand.  The  wind  pattered  among  dry, 
broken  stalks  of  dead  ocatilla.  Every  little  sound  brought 
Gale  to  a  listening  pause.  The  gloom  was  thickening 
fast  into  darkness.  It  would  be  a  night  without  star 
light.  He  moved  forward  up  the  pale,  zigzag  aisles  be 
tween  the  mesquite.  He  lost  the  light  for  a  while,  but  the 
coyotes'  chorus  told  him  he  was  approaching  the  campfire. 
Presently  the  light  danced  through  the  black  branches,  and 
soon  grew  into  a  flame.  Stooping  low,  with  bushy  mes- 
quites  between  him  and  the  fire,  Gale  advanced.  The  coy 
otes  were  in  full  cry.  Gale  heard  the  tramping,  stamping 
thumps  of  many  hoofs.  The  sound  worried  him.  Foot  by 
foot  he  advanced,  and  finally  began  to  crawl.  The  wind 
favored  his  position,  so  that  neither  coyotes  nor  horses 
could  scent  him.  The  nearer  he  approached  the  head  of 
the  arroyo,  where  the  well  was  located,  the  thicker  grew 
tht  desert  vegetation.  At  length  a  dead  palo  verde,  with 
huge,  black  clumps  of  its  parasite  mistletoe  thick  in  the 
branches,  marked  a  distance  from  the  well  that  Gale 
considered  close  enough.  Noiselessly  he  crawled  here 
and  there  until  he  secured  a  favorable  position,  and  then 
rose  to  peep  from  behind  his  covert. 

He  saw  a  bright  fire,  not  a  cooking-fire,  for  that  would 
have  been  low  and  red,  but  a  crackling  blaze  of  mesquite. 
Three  men  were  in  sight,  all  close  to  the  burning  sticks. 
They  were  Mexicans  and  of  the  coarse  type  of  raiders, 
rebels,  bandits  that  Gale  had  expected  to  see.  One  stood 
up,  his  back  to  the  fire;  another  sat  with  shoulders  en 
veloped  in  a  blanket,  and  the  third  lounged  in  the  sand, 
his  feet  almost  in  the  blaze.  They  had  cast  off  belts  and 
weapons.  A  glint  of  steel  caught  Gale's  eye.  Three 
short,  shiny  carbines  leaned  against  a  rock.  A  little  to 
the  left,  within  the  circle  of  light,  stood  a  square  house 
made  of  adobe  bricks.  Several  untrimmed  poles  upheld 
a  roof  of  brush,  which  was  partly  fallen  in.  This  house 
was  a  Papago  Indian  habitation,  and  a  month  before  had 
been  occupied  by  a  family  that  had  been  murdered  or 

101 


DESERT   GOLD 

driven  off  by  a  roving  band  of  outlaws.  A  rude  corral 
showed  dimly  in  the  edge  of  firelight,  and  from  a  black 
mass  within  came  the  snort  and  stamp  and  whinny  of 
horses. 

Gale  took  in  the  scene  in  one  quick  glance,  then  sank 
down  at  the  foot  of  the  mesquite.  He  had  naturally  ex 
pected  to  see  more  men.  But  the  situation  was  by  no 
means  new.  This  was  one,  or  part  of  one,  of  the  raider 
bands  harrying  the  border.  They  were  stealing  horses, 
or  driving  a  herd  already  stolen.  These  bands  were  more 
numerous  than  the  waterholes  of  northern  Sonora ;  they 
never  camped  long  at  one  place ;  like  Arabs,  they  roamed 
over  the  desert  all  the  way  from  Nogales  to  Casita.  If 
Gale  had  gone  peaceably  up  to  this  campfire  there  were 
&  hundred  chances  that  the  raiders  would  kill  and  rob 
him  to  one  chance  that  they  might  not.  If  they  recog 
nized  him  as  a  ranger  comrade  of  Ladd  and  Lash,  if 
they  got  a  glimpse  of  Blanco  Sol,  then  Gale  would  have 
no  chance. 

These  Mexicans  had  evidently  been  at  the  well  some 
time.  Their  horses  being  in  the  corral  meant  that  graz 
ing  had  been  done  by  day.  Gale  revolved  questions  in 
mind.  Had  this  trio  of  outlaws  run  across  Ladd?  It 
was  not  likely,  for  in  that  event  they  might  not  have 
been  so  comfortable  and  care-free  in  camp.  Were  they 
waiting  for  more  members  of  their  gang?  That  was  very 
probable.  With  Gale,  however,  the  most  important  con 
sideration  was  how  to  get  his  horse  to  water.  Sol  must 
have  a  drink  if  it  cost  a  fight.  There  was  stern  reason 
for  Gale  to  hurry  eastward  along  the  trail.  He  thought 
it  best  to  go  back  to  where  he  had  left  his  horse  and  not 
make  any  decisive  move  until  daylight. 

With  the  same  noiseless  care  he  had  exercised  in  the 
advance,  Gale  retreated  until  it  was  safe  for  him  to  rise 
and  walk  on  down  the  arroyo.  He  found  Blanco  Sol  con 
tentedly  grazing.  A  heavy  dew  was  falling,  and,  as  the 
grass  was  abundant,  the  horse  did  not  show  the  usual 

102 


THE  YAQUI 

restlessness  and  distress  after  a  dry  and  exhausting  day. 
Gale  carried  his  saddle,  blankets,  and  bags  into  the  lee  of 
a  little  greasewood-covered  mound,  from  around  which 
the  wind  had  cut  the  soil ;  and  here,  in  a  wash,  he  risked 
building  a  small  fire.  By  this  time  the  wind  was  piercingly 
cold.  Gale's  hands  were  numb,  and  he  moved  them  to 
and  fro  in  the  little  blaze.  Then  he  made  coffee  in  a 
cup,  cooked  some  slices  of  bacon  on  the  end  of  a  stick, 
and  took  a  couple  of  hard  biscuits  from  a  saddlebag.  Of 
these  his  meal  consisted.  After  that  he  removed  the 
halter  from  Blanco  Sol,  intending  to  leave  him  free  to 
graze  for  a  while. 

Then  Gale  returned  to  his  little  fire,  replenished  it  with 
short  sticks  of  dead  greasewood  and  mesquite,  and,  wrap 
ping  his  blanket  round  his  shoulders,  he  sat  down  to 
warm  himself  and  to  wait  till  it  was  time  to  bring  in  the 
horse  and  tie  him  up. 

The  fire  was  inadequate,  and  Gale  was  cold  and  wet 
with  dew.  Hunger  and  thirst  were  with  him.  His  bones 
ached,  and  there  was  a  dull,  deep-seated  pain  throbbing 
in  his  unhealed  wound.  For  days  unshaven,  his  beard 
seemed  like  a  million  pricking  needles  in  his  blistered 
skin.  He  was  so  tired  that,  once  having  settled  himself, 
he  did  not  move  hand  or  foot.  The  night  was  dark,  dis 
mal,  cloudy,  windy,  growing  colder.  A  moan  of  wind 
in  the  mesquites  was  occasionally  pierced  by  the  high- 
keyed  yelp  of  a  coyote.  There  were  lulls  in  which  the 
silence  seemed  to  be  a  thing  of  stifling,  encroaching  sub 
stance — a  thing  that  enveloped,  buried  the  desert. 

Judged  by  the  great  average  of  ideals  and  conventional 
standards  of  life,  Dick  Gale  was  a  starved,  lonely,  suffer 
ing,  miserable  wretch.  But  in  his  case  the  judgment 
would  have  hit  only  externals,  would  have  missed  the 
vital  inner  truth.  For  Gale  was  happy  with  a  kind  of 
strange,  wild  glory  in  the  privations,  the  pains,  the  perils, 
and  the  silence  and  solitude  to  be  endured  on  this  desert 
land.  In  the  past  he  had  not  been  of  any  use  to  himself 

103 


DESERT  GOLD 

or  others ;  and  he  had  never  known  what  it  meant  to  be 
hungry,  cold,  tired,  lonely.  He  had  never  worked  for 
anything.  The  needs  of  the  day  had  been  provided,  and 
to-morrow  and  the  f  uture  looked  the  same.  Danger,  peril, 
toil — these  had  been  words  read  in  books  and  papers. 

In  the  present  he  used  his  hands,  his  senses,  and  his 
wits.  He  had  a  duty  to  a  man  who  relied  on  his  services. 
He  was  a  comrade,  a  friend,  a  valuable  ally  to  riding, 
fighting  rangers.  He  had  spent  endless  days,  weeks  that 
seemed  years,  alone  with  a  horse,  trailing  over,  climbing 
over,  hunting  over  a  desert  that  was  harsh  and  hostile 
by  nature,  and  perilous  by  the  invasion  of  savage  men. 
That  horse  had  become  human  to  Gale.  And  with  him 
Gale  had  learned  to  know  the  simple  needs  of  existence. 
Like  dead  scales  the  superficialities,  the  falsities,  lie 
habits  that  had  once  meant  all  of  life  dropped  off,  use- 
Jess  things  in  this  stern  waste  of  rock  and  sand. 

Gale's  happiness,  as  far  as  it  concerned  the  toil  and 
strife,  was  perhaps  a  grim  and  stoical  one.  But  love 
abided  with  him,  and  it  had  engendered  and  fostered 
other  undeveloped  traits — romance  and  a  feeling  for 
beauty,  and  a  keen  observation  of  nature.  He  felt  pain, 
but  he  was  never  miserable.  He  felt  the  solitude,  but  he 
was  never  lonely. 

As  he  rode  across  the  desert,  even  though  keen  eyes 
searched  for  the  moving  black  dots,  the  rising  puffs  of 
white  dust  that  were  warnings,  he  saw  Nell's  face  in 
every  cloud.  The  clean-cut  mesas  took  on  the  shape  of 
her  straight  profile,  with  its  strong  chin  and  lips,  its  fine 
nose  and  forehead.  There  was  always  a  glint  of  gold 
or  touch  of  red  or  graceful  line  or  gleam  of  blue  to  re 
mind  him  of  her.  Then  at  night  her  face  shone  warm 
and  glowing,  flushing  and  paling,  in  the  campfire. 

To-night,  as  usual,  with  a  keen  ear  to  the  wind,  Gale 
listened  as  one  on  guard;  yet  he  watched  the  changing 
phantom  of  a  sweet  face  in  the  embers,  and  as  he 
watched  he  thought.  The  desert  developed  and  multiplied 

104 


THE  YAQUI 

thought.  A  thousand  sweet  faces  glowed  in  the  pink  and 
white  ashes  of  his  campfire,  the  faces  of  other  sweet 
hearts  or  wives  that  had  gleamed  for  other  men.  Gale 
was  happy  in  his  thought  of  Nell,  for  something,  when  he 
was  alone  this  way  in  the  wilderness,  told  him  she  was 
near  him,  she  thought  of  him,  she  loved  him.  But  there 
were  many  men  alone  on  that  vast  southwestern  plateau, 
and  when  they  saw  dream  faces,  surely  for  some  it  was 
a  fleeting  flash,  a  gleam  soon  gone,  like  the  hope  and  the 
name  and  the  happiness  that  had  been  and  was  now  no 
more.  Often  Gale  thought  of  those  hundreds  of  desert 
travelers,  prospectors,  wanderers  who  had  ventured  down 
the  Camino  del  Diablo,  never  to  be  heard  of  again. 
Belding  had  told  him  of  that  most  terrible  of  all  desert 
trails — a  trail  of  shifting  sands.  Lash  had  traversed  it, 
and  brought  back  stories  of  buried  waterholes,  of  bones 
bleaching  white  in  the  sun,  of  gold  mines  as  lost  as  were 
the  prospectors  who  had  sought  them,  of  the  merciless 
Yaqui  and  his  hatred  for  the  Mexican.  Gale  thought  \t 
this  trail  and  the  men  who  had  camped  along  it,  For 
many  there  had  been  one  night,  one  campfire  that  had 
been  the  last.  This  idea  seemed  to  creep  in  out  of  the 
darkness,  the  loneliness,  the  silence,  and  to  find  a  place 
in  Gale's  mind,  so  that  it  had  strange  fascination  for 
him.  He  knew  now  as  he  had  never  dreamed  before  how 
men  drifted  into  the  desert,  leaving  behind  graves, 
wrecked  homes,  ruined  lives,  lost  wives  and  sweethearts. 
And  for  every  wanderer  every  campfire  had  a  phantom 
face.  Gale  measured  the  agony  of  these  men  at  their  last 
campfire  by  the  joy  and  promise  he  traced  in  the  ruddy 
heart  of  his  own. 

By  and  by  Gale  remembered  what  he  was  waiting  for ; 
and,  getting  up,  he  took  the  halter  and  went  out  to  find 
Blanco  Sol.  It  was  pitch-dark  now,  and  Gale  could  not 
see  a  rod  ahead.  He  felt  his  way,  and  presently  as  he 
rounded  a  rr»esquite  he  saw  Sol's  white  shape  outlined 
against  the  blackness.  The  horse  jumped  and  wheeled, 

105 


DESERT   GOLD 

ready  to  run.  It  was  doubtful  if  any  one  unknown  to 
Sol  could  ever  have  caught  him.  Gale's  low  call  reassured 
him,  and  he  went  on  grazing.  Gale  haltered  him  in  the 
likeliest  patch  of  grass  and  returned  to  his  camp.  There 
he  lifted  his  saddle  into  a  protected  spot  under  a  low  wall 
of  the  mound,  and,  laying  one  blanket  on  the  sand,  he 
covered  himself  with  the  other  and  stretched  himself  for 
the  night. 

Here  he  was  out  of  reach  of  the  wind ;  but  he  heard  its 
melancholy  moan  in  the  mesquite.  There  was  no  other 
sound.  The  coyotes  had  ceased  their  hungry  cries.  Gale 
dropped  to  sleep,  and  slept  soundly  during  the  first  half 
of  the  night ;  and  after  that  he  seemed  always  to  be  par 
tially  awake,  aware  of  increasing  cold  and  damp.  The 
dark  mantle  turned  gray,  and  then  daylight  came  quickly. 
The  morning  was  clear  and  nipping  cold.  He  threw 
off  the  wet  blanket  and  got  up  cramped  and  half  frozen. 
A  little  brisk  action  was  all  that  was  necessary  to  warm 
his  blood  and  loosen  his  muscles,  and  then  he  was  fresh, 
tingling,  eager.  The  sun  rose  in  a  golden  blaze,  and 
the  descending  valley  took  on  wondrous  changing  hues. 
Then  he  fetched  up  Blanco  Sol,  saddled  him,  and  tied 
him  to  the  thickest  clump  of  mesquite. 

"Sol,  we'll  have  a  drink  pretty  soon,"  he  said,  patting 
the  splendid  neck. 

Gale  meant  it.  He  would  not  eat  till  he  had  watered 
his  horse.  Sol  had  gone  nearly  forty-eight  hours  with 
out  a  sufficient  drink,  and  that  was  long  enough,  even  for 
a  desert-bred  beast.  No  three  raiders  could  keep  Gale 
away  from  that  well.  Taking  his  rifle  in  hand,  he  faced 
up  the  arroyo.  Rabbits  were  frisking  in  the  short  wil 
lows,  and  some  were  so  tame  he  could  have  kicked  them. 
Gale  walked  swiftly  for  a  goodly  part  of  the  distance, 
and  then,  when  he  saw  blue  smoke  curling  up  above  the 
trees,  he  proceeded  slowly,  with  alert  eye  and  ear.  From 
the  lay  of  the  land  and  position  of  trees  seen  by  daylight, 
he  found  an  easier  and  safer  course  than  the  one  he  had 

106 


THE  YAQUr 

taken  in  the  dark.    And  by  careful  work  he  was  enabled 

to  get  closer  to  the  well,  and  somewhat  above  it. 

The  Mexicans  were  leisurely  cooking  their  morning 
meal.  They  had  two  fires,  one  for  warmth,  the  other 
to  cook  over.  Gale  had  an  idea  these  raiders  were 
familiar  to  him.  It  seemed  all  these  border  hawks  re 
sembled  one  another — being  mostly  small  of  build,  wiry, 
angular,  swarthy- faced,  and  black-haired,  and  they  wore 
the  oddly  styled  Mexican  clothes  and  sombreros.  A  slow 
wrath  stirred  in  Gale  as  he  watched  the  trio.  They 
showed  not  the  slightest  indication  of  breaking  camp. 
One  fellow,  evidently  the  leader,  packed  a  gun  at  his  hip, 
the  only  weapon  in  sight.  Gale  noted  this  with  specula 
tive  eyes.  The  raiders  had  slept  inside  the  little  adobe 
house,  and  had  not  yet  brought  out  the  carbines.  Next 
Gale  swept  his  gaze  to  the  corral,  in  which  he  saw  more 
than  a  dozen  horses,  some  of  them  fine  animals.  They 
were  stamping  and  whistling,  fighting  one  another,  and 
pawing  the  dirt.  This  was  entirely  natural  behavior  for 
desert  horses  penned  in  when  they  wanted  to  get  at  water 
and  grass. 

But  suddenly  one  of  the  blacks,  a  big,  shaggy  fellow, 
shot  up  his  ears  and  pointed  his  nose  over  the  top  of  the 
fence.  He  whistled.  Other  horses  looked  in  the  same 
direction,  and  their  ears  went  up,  and  they,  too,  whistled. 
Gale  knew  that  other  horses  or  men,  very  likely  both, 
were  approaching.  But  the  Mexicans  did  not  hear  the 
alarm,  or  show  any  interest  if  they  did.  These  mescal- 
drinking  raiders  were  not  scouts.  It  was  notorious  how 
easily  they  could  be  surprised  or  ambushed.  Mostly  they 
were  ignorant,  thick-skulled  peons.  They  were  wonder 
ful  horsemen,  and  could  go  long  without  food  or  water; 
but  they  had  no  other  accomplishments  or  attributes  cal 
culated  to  help  them  in  desert  warfare.  They  had  poor 
sight,  poor  hearing,  poor  judgment,  and  when  excited 
they  resembled  crazed  ants  running  wild. 

Gale  saw  two  Indians  on  burros  come  riding  up  the 

107 


DESERT   GOLD 

bther  side  of  the  knoll  upon  which  the  adobe  house  stood ; 
and  apparently  they  were  not  aware  of  the  presence  of 
the  Mexicans,  for  they  came  on  up  the  path.  One  Indian 
was  a  Papago.  The  other,  striking  in  appearance  for 
other  reasons  than  that  he  seemed  to  be  about  to  fall  from 
the  burro,  Gale  took  to  be  a  Yaqui.  These  travelers  had 
absolutely  nothing  for  an  outfit  except  a  blanket  and  a 
half-empty  bag.  They  came  over  the  knoll  and  down  the 
path  toward  the  well,  turned  a  corner  of  the  house,  and 
completely  surprised  the  raiders. 

Gale  heard  a  short,  shrill  cry,  strangely  high  and  wild, 
and  this  came  from  one  of  the  Indians.  It  was  answered 
by  hoarse  shouts.  Then  the  leader  of  the  trio,  the  Mexican 
who  packed  a  gun,  pulled  it  and  fired  point-blank.  He 
missed  once — and  again.  At  the  third  shot  the  Papago 
shrieked  and  tumbled  off  his  burro  to  fall  in  a  heap.  The 
other  Indian  swayed,  as  if  the  taking  away  of  the  support 
lent  by  his  comrade  had  brought  collapse,  and  with  the 
fourth  shot  he,  too,  slipped  to  the  ground. 

The  reports  had  frightened  the  horses  in  the  corral; 
and  the  vicious  black,  crowding  the  rickety  bars,  broke 
them  down.  He  came  plunging  out.  Two  of  the  Mexi 
cans  ran  for  him,  catching  him  by  nose  and  mane,  and  the 
third  ran  to  block  the  gateway. 

Then,  with  a  splendid  vaulting  mount,  the  Mexican 
with  the  gun  leaped  to  the  back  of  the  horse.  He  yelled 
and  waved  his  gun,  and  urged  the  black  forward.  The 
manner  of  all  three  was  savagely  jocose.  They  were 
having  sport.  The  two  on  the  ground  began  to  dance 
and  jabber.  The  mounted  leader  shot  again,  and  then 
stuck  like  a  leech  upon  the  bare  back  of  the  rearing  black. 
It  was  a  vain  show  of  horsemanship.  Then  this  Mexican, 
by  some  strange  grip,  brought  the  horse  down,  plunging 
almost  upon  the  body  of  the  Indian  that  had  fallen  last. 

Gale  stood  aghast  with  his  rifle  clutched  tight.  He 
could  not  divine  the  intention  of  the  raider,  but  suspected 
something  strikingly  brutal.  The  horse  answered  to  that 

108 


THE  YAQUI 

cruel,  guiding  hand,  yet  he  swerved  and  bucked.  He 
reared  aloft,  pawing  the  air,  wildly  snorting,  then  he 
plunged  down  upon  the  prostrate  Indian.  Even  in  the 
act  the  intelligent  animal  tried  to  keep  from  striking  the 
body  with  his  hoofs.  But  that  was  not  possible.  A  yell, 
hideous  in  its  passion,  signaled  this  feat  of  horsemanship. 

The  Mexican  made  no  move  to  trample  the  body  of  the 
Papago.  He  turned  the  black  to  ride  again  over  the 
other  Indian.  That  brought  into  Gale's  mind  what  he 
had  heard  of  a  Mexican's  hate  for  a  Yaqui.  It  recalled 
the  barbarism  of  these  savage  peons,  and  the  war  of 
extermination  being  waged  upon  the  Yaquis. 

Suddenly  Gale  was  horrified  to  see  the  Yaqui  writhe 
and  raise  a  feeble  hand.  The  action  brought  renewed  and 
more  savage  cries  from  the  Mexicans.  The  horse  snorted 
in  terror. 

Gale  could  bear  no  more.  He  took  a  quick  shot  at  the 
rider.  He  missed  the  moving  figure,  but  hit  the  horse. 
There  was  a  bound,  a  horrid  scream,  a  mighty  plunge, 
then  the  horse  went  down,  giving  the  Mexican  a  stunning 
fall.  Both  beast  and  man  lay  still. 

Gale  rushed  from  his  cover  to  intercept  the  other 
raiders  before  they  could  reach  the  house  and  their 
weapons.  One  fellow  yelled  and  ran  wildly  in  the  oppo 
site  direction ;  the  other  stood  stricken  in  his  tracks.  Gale 
ran  in  close  and  picked  up  the  gun  that  had  dropped  from 
the  raider  leader's  hand.  This  fellow  had  begun  to  stir, 
to  come  out  of  his  stunned  condition.  Then  the  fright 
ened  horses  burst  the  corral  bars,  and  in  a  thundering, 
dust-mantled  stream  fled  up  the  arroyo. 

The  fallen  raider  sat  up,  mumbling  to  his  saints  in  one 
breath,  cursing  in  his  next.  The  other  Mexican  kept  his 
stand,  intimidated  by  the  threatening  rifle. 

"Go,  Greasers!  Run!"  yelled  Gale.  Then  he  yelled 
it  in  Spanish.  At  the  point  of  his  rifle  he  drove  the  two 
raiders  out  of  the  camp.  His  next  move  was  to  run  into 
the  house  and  fetch  out  the  carbines.  With  a  heavy 

109 


DESERT   GOLD 

stone  he  dismantled  each  weapon.  That  done,  he  set  out 
on  a  run  for  his  horse.  He  took  the  shortest  cut  down  the 
arroyo,  with  no  concern  as  to  whether  or  not  he  would 
encounter  the  raiders.  Probably  such  a  meeting  would 
be  all  the  worse  for  them,  and  they  knew  it.  Blanco  Sol 
heard  him  coming  and  whistled  a  welcome,  and  when 
Gale  ran  up  the  horse  was  snorting  war.  Mounting,  Gale 
rode  rapidly  back  to  the  scene  of  the  action,  and  his  first 
thought,  when  he  arrived  at  the  well,  was  to  give  Sol  a 
drink  and  to  fill  his  canteens. 

Then  Gale  led  his  horse  up  out  of  the  waterhole,  and 
decided  before  remounting  to  have  a  look  at  the  Indians. 
The  Papago  had  been  shot  through  the  heart,  but  the 
Yaqui  was  still  alive.  Moreover,  he  was  conscious  and 
staring  up  at  Gale  with  great,  strange,  somber  eyes,  black 
as  volcanic  slag. 

"Gringo  good — no  kill/'  he  said,  in  husky  whisper. 
»    His  speech  was  not  affirmative  so  much  as  questioning, 
"Yaqui,  you're  done  for,"  said  Gale,  and  his  words 
were  positive.   He  was  simply  speaking  aloud  his  mind. 
"Yaqui — no  hurt — much,"  replied  the  Indian,  and  then 
lie  spoke  a  strange  word — repeated  it  again  and  again. 

An  instinct  of  Gale's,  or  perhaps  some  suggestion  in  the 
husky,  thick  whisper  or  dark  face,  told  Gale  to  reach  for 
his  canteen.  He  lifted  the  Indian  and  gave  him  a  drink, 
and  if  ever  in  all  his  life  he  saw  gratitude  in  human  eyes 
he  saw  it  then.  Then  he  examined  the  injured  Yaqui, 
wot  forgetting  for  an  instant  to  send  wary,  fugitive 
glances  on  all  sides.  Gale  was  not  to  be  surprised.  The 
Indian  had  three  wounds — a  bullet  hole  in  his  shoulder, 
a  crushed  arm,  and  a  badly  lacerated  leg.  What  had  been 
the  matter  with  him  before  being  set  upon  by  the  raider 
Gale  could  not  be  certain. 

The  ranger  thought  rapidly.  This  Yaqui  would  live 
unless  left  there  to  die  or  be  murdered  by  the  Mexicans 
when  they  found  courage  to  sneak  back  to  the  well.  It 
never  occurred  to  Gale  to  abandon  the  poor  fellow.  That 

1 10 


THE  YAQUI 

was  where  his  old  training,  the  higher  order  of  human 
feeling,  made  impossible  the  following  of  any  elemental 
instinct  of  self-preservation.  All  the  same,  Gale  knew  he 
multiplied  his  perils  a  hundredfold  by  burdening  himself 
with  a  crippled  Indian.  Swiftly  he  set  to  work,  and  with 
rifle  ever  under  his  hand,  and  shifting  glance  spared  from 
his  task,  he  bound  up  the  Yaqui's  wounds.  At  the  same 
time  he  kept  keen  watch. 

The  Indians'  burros  and  the  horses  of  the  raiders  were 
all  out  of  sight.  Time  was  too  valuable  for  Gale  to  use 
any  in  what  might  be  vain  search.  Therefore,  he  lifted 
the  Yaqui  upon  Sol's  broad  shoulders  and  climbed  into 
the  saddle.  At  a  word  Sol  dropped  his  head  and  started 
eastward  up  the  trail,  walking  swiftly*  without  resentment 
for  his  double  burden. 

Far  ahead,  between  two  huge  mesas  where  the  trail 
mounted  over  a  pass,  a  long  line  of  dust  clouds  marked 
the  position  of  the  horses  that  had  escaped  from  the 
corral.  Those  that  had  been  stolen  would  travel  straight 
and  true  for  home,  and  perhaps  would  lead  the  others 
with  them.  The  raiders  were  left  on  the  desert  without 
guns  or  mounts. 

Blanco  Sol  walked  or  jog-trotted  six  miles  to  the  hour. 
At  that  gait  fifty  miles  would  not  have  wet  or  turned  a 
hair  of  his  dazzling  white  coat.  Gale,  bearing  in  mind  the 
ever-present  possibility  of  encountering  more  raiders  and 
of  being  pursued,  saved  the  strength  of  the  horse.  Once 
out  of  sight  of  Papago  Well,  Gale  dismounted  and  walked 
beside  the  horse,  steadying  with  one  firm  hand  the  help 
less,  dangling  Yaqui. 

The  sun  cleared  the  eastern  ramparts,  and  the  coolness 
of  morning  fled  as  if  before  a  magic  foe.  The  whole 
desert  changed.  The  grays  wore  bright;  the  mesquites 
glistened ;  the  cactus  took  the  silver  hue  of  frost,  and  the 
rocks  gleamed  gold  and  red.  Then,  as  the  heat  increased, 
a  wind  rushed  up  out  of  the  valley  behind  Gale,  and  the 
hotter  the  sun  blazed  down  the  swifter  rushed  the  wind. 

in 


DESERT   GOLD 

The  wonderful  transparent  haze  of  distance  lost  its  bluish 
hue  for  one  with  tinge  of  yellow.  Flying  sand  made  the 
peaks  dimly  outlined. 

Gale  kept  pace  with  his  horse.  He  bore  the  twinge  of 
pain  that  darted  through  his  injured  hip  at  every  stride. 
His  eye  roved  over  the  wide,  smoky  prospect  seeking  the 
landmarks  he  knew.  When  the  wild  and  bold  spurs  of 
No  Name  Mountains  loomed  through  a  rent  in  flying 
clouds  of  sand  he  felt  nearer  home.  Another  hour  brought 
him  abreast  of  a  dark,  straight  shaft  rising  clear  from  a 
beetling  escarpment  This  was  a  monument  marking  the 
international  boundary  line.  When  he  had  passed  it  he 
had  his  own  country  under  foot.  In  the  heat  of  midday 
he  halted  in  the  shade  of  a  rock,  and,  lifting  the  Yaqui 
down,  gave  him  a  drink.  Then,  after  a  long,  sweeping 
survey  of  the  surrounding  desert,  he  removed  Sol's  saddle 
and  let  him  roll,  and  took  for  himself  a  welcome  rest  and 
a  bite  to  eat. 

The  Yaqui  was  tenacious  of  life.  He  was  still  holding 
his  own.  For  the  first  time  Gale  really  looked  at  the 
Indian  to  study  him.  He  had  a  large  head  nobly  cast, 
and  a  face  that  resembled  a  shrunken  mask.  It  seemed 
chiseled  in  the  dark-red,  volcanic  lava  of  his  Sonora  wil 
derness.  The  Indian's  eyes  were  always  black  and  mystic, 
but  this  Yaqui's  encompassed  all  the  tragic  desolation  of 
the  desert.  They  were  fixed  on  Gale,  moved  only  when 
he  moved.  The  Indian  was  short  and  broad,  and  his 
body  showed  unusual  muscular  development,  although 
he  seemed  greatly  emaciated  from  starvation  or  illness. 

Gale  resumed  his  homeward  journey.  When  he  got 
through  the  pass  he  faced  a  great  depression,  as  rough 
as  if  millions  of  gigantic  spikes  had  been  driven  by  the 
hammer  of  Thor  into  a  seamed  and  cracked  floor.  This 
was  Altar  Valley.  It  was  a  chaos  of  arroyos,  canons, 
rocks,  and  ridges  all  mantled  with  cactus,  and  at  its  east 
ern  end  it  claimed  the  dry  bed  of  Forlorn  River  and  watef 
when  there  was  any. 

112 


THE  YAQUI 

With  a  wounded,  helpless  man  across  the  saddle,  this 
stretch  of  thorny  and  contorted  desert  was  practically 
impassable.  Yet  Gale  headed  into  it  unflinchingly.  He 
would  carry  the  Yaqui  as  far  as  possible,  or  until  death 
made  the  burden  no  longer  a  duty.  Blanco  Sol  plodded 
on  over  the  dragging  sand,  up  and  down  the  steep,  loose 
banks  of  washes,  out  on  the  rocks,  and  through  the  rows 
of  white-toothed  choyas. 

The  sun  sloped  westward,  bending  fiercer  heat  in  venge 
ful,  parting  reluctance.  The  wind  slackened.  The  dust 
settled.  And  the  bold,  forbidding  front  of  No  Name 
Mountains  changed  to  red  and  gold.  Gale  held  grimly 
by  the  side  of  the  tireless,  implacable  horse,  holding  the 
Yaqui  on  the  saddle,  taking  the  brunt  of  the  merciless 
thorns.  In  the  end  it  became  heartrending  toil.  His 
heavy  chaps  dragged  him  down ;  but  he  dared  not  go  on 
without  them,  for,  thick  and  stiff  as  they  were,  the  ter 
rible,  steel-bayoneted  spikes  of  the  choyas  pierced  through 
to  sting  his  legs. 

To  the  last  mile  Gale  held  to  Blanco  Sol's  gait  and  kept 
ever- watchful  gaze  ahead  on  the  trail.  Then,  with  the 
low,  flat  houses  of  Forlorn  River  shining  red  in  the  sun 
set,  Gale  flagged  and  rapidly  weakened.  The  Yaqui 
slipped  out  of  the  saddle  and  dropped  limp  in  the  sand. 
Gale  could  not  mount  his  horse.  He  clutched  Sol's  long 
tail  and  twisted  his  hand  in  it  and  staggered  on. 

Blanco  Sol  whistled  a  piercing  blast.  He  scented  cool 
water  and  sweet  alfalfa  hay.  Twinkling  lights  ahead 
meant  rest.  The  melancholy  desert  twilight  rapidly  suc 
ceeded  the  sunset.  It  accentuated  the  forlorn  loneliness 
of  the  gray,  winding  river  of  sand  and  its  grayer  shores. 
Night  shadows  trooped  down  from  the  black  and  looming 
mountains. 


VII 

WHITE  HORSES 

11   A    CRIPPLED  Yaqui!   Why  the  hell  did  you  saddle 

JL\ yourself  with  him?"  roared  Belding,  as  he  laid 
Gale  upon  the  bed. 

Belding  had  grown  hard  these  late,  violent  weeks. 

"Because  I  chose,"  whispered  Gale,  in  reply.  "Go 
after  him — he  dropped  in  the  trail — across  the  river — 
near  the  first  big  saguaro." 

Belding  began  to  swear  as  he  fumbled  with  matches 
and  the  lamp ;  but  as  the  light  flared  up  he  stopped  short 
in  the  middle  of  a  word. 

"You  said  you  weren't  hurt?"  he  demanded,  in  sharp 
anxiety,  as  he  bent  over  Gale. 

"I'm  only — all  in Will  you  go — or  send  some  one — 

for  the  Yaqui?" 

"Sure,  Dick,  sure,"  Belding  replied,  in  softer  tones. 
Then  he  stalked  out;  his  heels  rang  on  the  flagstones; 
he  opened  a  door  and  called :  "Mother — girls,  here's  Dick 

back.    He's  done  up Now — no,  no,  he's  not  hurt  or 

in  bad  shape.    You  women ! ...  Do  what  you  can  to  make 
him  comfortable.     I've  got  a  little  job  on  hand." 

There  were  quick  replies  that  Gale's  dulling  ears  did 
not  distinguish.  Then  it  seemed  Mrs.  Belding  was  be 
side  his  bed,  her  very  presence  so  cool  and  soothing  and 
helpful;  and  Mercedes  and  Nell,  wide-eyed  and  white- 
faced,  were  fluttering  around  him.  He  drank  thirstily, 
but  refused  food.  He  wanted  rest.  And  with  their  faces 
drifting  away  in  a  kind  of  haze,  with  the  feeling  of  gentle 
hands  about  him,  he  lost  consciousness. 

114 


WHITE  HORSES 

He  slept  twenty  hours.  Then  he  arose,  thirsty,  hungry, 
lame,  overworn,  and  presently  went  in  search  of  Belding 
and  the  business  of  the  day. 

"Your  Yaqui  was  near  dead,  but  guess  we'll  pull 
him  through,"  said  Belding.  "Dick,  the  other  day  that 
Indian  came  here  by  rail  and  foot  and  Lord  only  knows 
how  else,  all  the  way  from  New  Orleans !  He  spoke  Eng 
lish  better  than  most  Indians,  and  I  know  a  little  Yaqui. 
I  got  some  of  his  story  and  guessed  the  rest.  The  Mexi 
can  government  is  trying  to  root  out  the  Yaquis.  A  year 
ago  his  tribe  was  taken  in  chains  to  a  Mexican  port  on 
the  Gulf.  The  fathers,  mothers,  children,  were  separated 
and  put  in  ships  bound  for  Yucatan.  There  they  were 
made  slaves  on  the  great  henequen-  plantations.  They 
were  driven,  beaten,  starved.  Each  slave  had  for  a  day's 
rations  a  hunk  of  sour  dough,  no  more.  Yucatan  is  low, 
marshy,  damp,  hot.  The  Yaquis  were  bred  on  the  high, 
dry  Sonoran  plateau,  where  the  air  is  like  a  knife.  They 
dropped  dead  in  the  henequen  fields,  and  their  places  were 
taken  by  more.  You  see,  the  Mexicans  won't  kill  out 
right  in  their  war  of  extermination  of  the  Yaquis.  They 

get  use  out  of  them.  It's  a  horrible  thing Well,  this 

Yaqui  you  brought  in  escaped  from  his  captors,  got 
aboard  ship,  and  eventually  reached  New  Orleans.  Some 
how  he  traveled  way  out  here.  I  gave  him  a  bag  of  food, 
and  he  went  off  with  a  Papago  Indian.  He  was  a  sick 
man  then.  And  he  must  have  fallen  foul  of  some 
Greasers." 

Gale  told  of  his  experience  at  Papago  Well. 

"That  raider  who  tried  to  grind  the  Yaqui  under  a 
horse's  hoofs — he  was  a  hyena !"  concluded  Gale,  shudder 
ing.  "I've  seen  some  blood  spilled  and  some  hard  sights, 
but  that  inhuman  devil  took  my  nerve.  Why,  as  I  told 
you,  Belding,  I  missed  a  shot  at  him — not  twenty  paces !" 

"Dick,  in  cases  like  that  the  sooner  you  clean  up  the 
bunch  the  better,"  said  Belding,  grimly.  "As  for  hard 
sights — wait  till  you've  seen  a  Yaqui  do  up  a  Mexican. 


DESERT   GOLD 

Bar  none,  that  is  the  limit !  It's  blood  lust,  a  racial  hate, 
deep  as  life,  and  terrible.  The  Spaniards  crushed  the 
Aztecs  four  or  five  hundred  years  ago.  That  hate  has 
had  time  to  grow  as  deep  as  a  cactus  root.  The  Yaquis 
are  mountain  Aztecs.  Personally,  I  think  they  are  noble 
and  intelligent,  and  if  let  alone  would  be  peaceable  and 
industrious.  I  like  the  few  I've  known.  But  they  are  a 
doomed  race.  Have  you  any  idea  what  ailed  this  Yaqui 
before  the  raider  got  in  his  work?" 

"No,  I  haven't.  I  noticed  the  Indian  seemed  in  bad 
shape;  but  I  couldn't  tell  what  was  the  matter  with 
him." 

"Well,  my  idea  is  another  personal  one.  Maybe  it's 
off  color.  I  think  that  Yaqui  was,  or  is,  for  that  matter, 
dying  of  a  broken  heart.  All  he  wanted  was  to  get  back 
to  his  mountains  and  die.  There  are  no  Yaquis  left  in 
that  part  of  Sonora  he  was  bound  for." 

"He  had  a  strange  look  in  his  eyes,"  said  Gale,  thought 
fully 

"Yes,  I  noticed  that.  But  all  Yaquis  have  a  wild  look. 
Dick,  if  I'm  not  mistaken,  this  fellow  was  a  chief.  It  was 
a  waste  of  strength,  a  needless  risk  for  you  to  save  him, 
pack  him  back  here.  But,  damn  the  whole  Greaser  out 
fit  generally,  I'm  glad  you  did !" 

Gale  remembered  then  to  speak  of  his  concern  for 
Ladd. 

"Laddy  didn't  go  out  to  meet  you,"  replied  Belding. 
"I  knew  you  were  due  in  any  day,  and,  as  there's  been 
trouble  between  here  and  Casita,  I  sent  him  that  way. 
Since  you've  been  out  our  friend  Carter  lost  a  bunch  of 
horses  and  a  few  steers.  Did  you  get  a  good  look  at  the 
horses  those  raiders  had  at  Papago  Well?" 

Dick  had  learned,  since  he  had  become  a  ranger,  to 
see  everything  with  keen,  sure,  photographic  eye;  and, 
being  put  to  the  test  so  often  required  of  him,  he  described 
the  horses  as  a  dark-colored  drove,  mostly  bays  and 
blacks,  with  one  spotted  sorrel. 

116 


WHITE  HORSES 

*Some  of  Carter's — sure  as  you're  born!"  exclaimed 
Belding.  "His  bunch  has  been  split  up,  divided  among 
several  bands  of  raiders.  He  has  a  grass  ranch  up  here 
in  Three  Mile  Arroyo.  It's  a  good  long  ride  in  U.  S. 
territory  from  the  border." 

"Those  horses  I  saw  will  go  home,  don't  you  think?" 
asked  Dick. 

"Sure.    They  can't  be  caught  or  stopped." 

"Well,  what  shall  I  do  now?" 

"Stay  here  and  rest,"  bluntly  replied  Belding.  "Yon 
need  it.  Let  the  women  fuss  over  you — doctor  you  a 
little.  When  Jim  gets  back  from  Sonoyta  I'll  know  more 
about  what  we  ought  to  do.  By  Lord!  it  seems  our  job 
now  isn't  keeping  Japs  and  Chinks  out  of  the  U.  S.  It's 
keeping  our  property  from  going  into  Mexico." 

"Are  there  any  letters  for  me?"  asked  Gale. 

"Letters!  Say,  my  boy,  it'd  take  something  pretty 
important  to  get  me  or  any  man  here  back  Casita  way. 
If  the  town  is  safe  these  days  the  road  isn't.  It's  a  month 
now  since  any  one  went  to  Casita." 

Gale  had  received  several  letters  from  his  sister  Elsie, 
the  last  of  which  he  had  not  answered.  There  had  not 
been  much  opportunity  for  writing  on  his  infrequent 
returns  to  Forlorn  River ;  and,  besides,  Elsie  had  written 
that  her  father  had  stormed  over  what  he  considered 
Dick's  falling  into  wild  and  evil  ways. 

"Time  flies,"  said  Dick.  "George  Thorne  will  be  free 
before  long,  and  he'll  be  coming  out.  I  wonder  if  he'll 
stay  here  or  try  to  take  Mercedes  away  ?" 

"Well,  he'll  stay  right  here  in  Forlorn  River,  if  I  have 
any  say,"  replied  Belding.  "I'd  like  to  know  how  he'd 
ever  get  that  Spanish  girl  out  of  the  country  now,  with 
all  the  trails  overrun  by  rebels  and  raiders.  It  'd  be  hard 
to  disguise  her.  Say,  Dick,  maybe  we  can  get  Thorne  to 
stay  here.  You  know,  since  you've  discovered  the  pos 
sibility  of  a  big  water  supply,  I've  had  dreams  of  a 
future  for  Forlorn  River. ...  If  only  this  war  was  over! 

117 


DESERT   GOLD 

Dick,  that's  what  it  is — war — scattered  war  along  the 
northern  border  of  Mexico  from  gulf  to  gulf.  What  if  it 
isn't  our  war?  We're  on  the  fringe.  No,  we  can't  de 
velop  Forlorn  River  until  there's  peace." 

The  discovery  that  Belding  alluded  to  was  one  that 
might  very  well  lead  to  the  making  of  a  wonderful  and 
agricultural  district  of  Altar  Valley.  While  in  college 
Dick  Gale  had  studied  engineering,  but  he  had  not  set 
the  scientific  world  afire  with  his  brilliance.  Nor  after 
leaving  college  had  he  been  able  to  satisfy  his  father  that 
he  could  hold  a  job.  Nevertheless,  his  smattering  of  en 
gineering  skill  bore  fruit  in  the  last  place  on  earth  where 
anything  might  have  been  expected  of  it — in  the  desert. 
Gale  had  always  wondered  about  the  source  of  Forlorn 
Kiver.  No  white  man  or  Mexican,  or,  so  far  as  known, 
no  Indian,  had  climbed  those  mighty  broken  steps  of  rock' 
called  No  Name  Mountains,  from  which  Forlorn  River 
was  supposed  to  come.  Gale  had  discovered  a  long,  nar 
row,  rock-bottomed  and  rock-walled  gulch  that  could 
be  dammed  at  the  lower  end  by  the  dynamiting  of  leaning 
cliffs  above.  An  inexhaustible  supply  of  water  could  be 
stored  there.  Furthermore,  he  had  worked  out  an  irriga 
tion  plan  to  bring  the  water  down  for  mining  uses,  and  to 
make  a  paradise  out  of  that  part  of  Altar  Valley  which 
lay  in  the  United  States.  Belding  claimed  there  was  gold 
in  the  arroyos,  gold  in  the  gulches,  not  in  quantities  to 
make  a  prospector  rejoice,  but  enough  to  work  for.  And 
the  soil  on  the  higher  levels  of  Altar  Valley  needed  only 
water  to  make  it  grow  anything  the  year  round.  Gale, 
too,  had  come  to  have  dreams  of  a  future  for  Forlorn 
River. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day  Ladd  unexpect 
edly  appeared  leading  a  lame  and  lathered  horse  into  the 
yard.  Belding  and  Gale,  who  were  at  work  at  the  forge, 
looked  up  and  were  surprised  out  of  speech.  The  legs  of 
the  horse  were  raw  and  red,  and  he  seemed  about  to  drop. 
Ladd's  sombrero  was  missing;  he  wore  a  bloody  scarf 

118 


WHITE  HORSES 

round  his  head;  sweat  and  blood  and  dust  had  formed 
a  crust  on  his  face;  little  streams  of  powdery  dust  slid 
from  him ;  and  the  lower  half  of  his  scarred  chaps  were 
full  of  broken  white  thorns. 

"Howdy,  boys,"  he  drawled.  "I  shore  am  glad  to  see 
you  all." 

" Where  'n  hell's  your  hat?"  demanded  Belding,  furi 
ously.  It  was  a  ridiculous  greeting.  But  Belding's  words 
signified  little.  The  dark  shade  of  worry  and  solicitude 
crossing  his  face  told  more  than  his  blank  amaze. 

The  ranger  stopped  unbuckling  the  saddle  girths,  and, 
looking  at  Belding,  broke  into  his  slow,  cool  laugh. 

"Tom,  you  recollect  that  whopper  of  a  saguaro  up  here 
where  Carter's  trail  branches  off  the  main  trail  to  Casita  ? 
Well,  I  climbed  it  an*  left  my  hat  on  top  for  a  wood 
pecker's  nest." 

"You've  been  running — fighting?"  queried  Belding,  as 
if  Ladd  had  not  spoken  at  all. 

"I  reckon  it'll  dawn  on  you  after  a  while,"  replied 
Ladd,  slipping  the  saddle.  » 

"Laddy,  go  in  the  house  to  the  women,"  said  Belding. 
"I'll  tend  to  your  horse." 

"Shore,  Tom,  in  a  minute.  I've  been  down  the  road. 
An*  I  found  hoss  tracks  an'  steer  tracks  goin'  across  the 
line.  But  I  seen  no  sign  of  raiders  till  this  mornin'. 
Slept  at  Carter's  last  night.  That  raid  the  other  day 
cleaned  him  out.  He's  shootin'  mad.  Well,  this  mornin' 
I  rode  plumb  into  a  bunch  of  Carter's  hosses,  runnin'  wild 
for  home.  Some  Greasers  were  tryin'  to  head  them  round 
an*  chase  them  back  across  the  line.  I  rode  in  between 
an'  made  matters  embarrassin'.  Carter's  hosses  got 
away.  Then  me  an'  the  Greasers  had  a  little  game  of 
hide  an'  seek  in  the  cactus.  I  was  on  the  wrong  side,  an' 
had  to  break  through  their  line  to  head  toward  home. 
We  run  some.  But  I  had  a  closer  call  than  I'm  stuck  on 
bavin'." 

"Laddy,  you  wouldn't  have  any  such  close  calls  if 

119 


DESERT   GOLD 

you'd  ride  one  of  my  horses,"  expostulated  Belding. 
"This  broncho  of  yours  can  run,  and  Lord  knows  he's 
game.  But  you  want  a  big,  strong  horse,  Mexican  bred, 
with  cactus  in  his  blood.  Take  one  of  the  bunch — 
Bull,  White  Woman,  Blanco  Jose." 

"I  had  a  big,  fast  horse  a  while  back,  but  I  lost  him," 
said  Ladd.  "This  bronch  ain't  so  bad.  Shore  Bull  an' 
that  white  devil  with  his  Greaser  name — they  could  run 
down  my  bronch,  kill  him  in  a  mile  of  cactus.  But, 
somehow,  Tom,  I  can't  make  up  my  mind  to  take  one  of 
them  grand  white  hosses.  Shore  I  reckon  I'm  kinda  soft. 
An'  mebbe  I'd  better  take  one  before  the  raiders  clean 
up  Forlorn  River." 

Belding  cursed  low  and  deep  in  his  throat,  and  the 
sound  resembled  muttering  thunder.  The  shade  of  anx 
iety  on  his  face  changed  to  one  of  dark  gloom  and 
passion.  Next  to  his  wife  and  daughter  there  was  noth 
ing  so  dear  to  him  as  those  white  horses.  His  father  and 
his  grandfather — all  his  progenitors  of  whom  he  had 
trace — had  been  lovers  of  horses.  It  was  in  Belding's 
blood. 

"Laddy,  before  it's  too  late  can't  I  get  the  whites  away 
from  the  border?" 

"Mebbe  it  ain't  too  late ;  but  where  can  we  take  them  ?" 

"To  San  Felipe?" 

"No.     We've  more  chance  to  hold  them  here." 

"To  Casita  and  the  railroad?" 

"Afraid  to  risk  gettin'  there.  An'  the  town's  full  of 
rebels  who  need  hosses." 

"Then  straight  north?" 

"Shore  man,  you're  crazy.  There's  no  water,  no  grass 
for  a  hundred  miles.  I'll  tell  you,  Tom,  the  safest  plan 
would  be  to  take  the  white  bunch  south  into  Sonora,  into 
some  wild  mountain  valley.  Keep  them  there  till  the 
raiders  have  traveled  on  back  east.  Pretty  soon  there 
won't  be  any  rich  pickin'  left  for  these  Greasers.  Anr 
then  they'll  ride  on  to  new  ranges." 

120 


WHITE  HORSES 

"Laddy,  I  don't  know  the  trails  into  Sonora.  An'  I 
can't  trust  a  Mexican  or  a  Papago.  Between  you  and 
me,  I'm  afraid  of  this  Indian  who  herds  for  me." 

"I  reckon  we'd  better  stick  here,  Tom.  .  .  .  Dick,  it's 
some  good  to  see  you  again.  But  you  seem  kinda  quiet. 
Shore  you  get  quieter  all  the  time.  Did  you  see  any  sign 
of  Jim  out  Sonoyta  way?" 

Then  Belding  led  the  lame  horse  toward  the  watering- 
trough,  while  the  two  rangers  went  toward  the  house. 
Dick  was  telling  Ladd  about  the  affair  at  Papago  Well 
when  they  turned  the  corner  under  the  porch.  Nell  was 
sitting  in  the  door.  She  rose  with  a  little  scream  and 
came  flying  toward  them. 

"Now  I'll  get  it,"  whispered  Ladd.  "The  women'" 
make  a  baby  of  me.  An'  shore  I  can't  heH  myself." 

"Oh,  Laddy,  you've  been  hurt!"  cried  Nell,  as  with 
white  cheeks  and  dilating  eyes  she  ran  to  him  and  caught 
his  arm. 

"Nell,  I  only  run  a  thorn  in  my  ear." 

"Oh,  Laddy,  don't  lie!  You've  lied  before.  I  know 
you're  hurt.  Come  in  to  mother." 

"Shore,  Nell,  it's  only  a  scratch.  My  bronch  throwed 
me." 

"Laddy,  no  horse  ever  threw  you."  The  girl's  words 
and  accusing  eyes  only  hurried  the  ranger  on  to  further 
duplicity. 

"Mebbe  I  got  it  when  I  was  ridin'  hard  under  a  mes- 
quite,  an'  a  sharp  snag  —  " 

"You've  been  shot  !  .  .  .  Mamma,  here's  Laddy,  and  he's 
been  shot!  ....  Oh,  these  dreadful  days  we're  having!  I 
can't  bear  them!  Forlorn  River  used  to  be  so  safe  and 
quiet.  Nothing  happened.  But  now  !  Jim  comes  home 
with  a  bloody  hole  in  him  —  then  Dick  —  then  Laddy  !  .  .  . 
Oh,  I'm  afraid  some  day  they'll  never  come  home." 


morning  was  bright,  still,  and  clear  as  crystal 
The  heat  waves  had  not  yet  begun  to  rise  from  the  desert 

121 


DESERT   GOLD 

A  soft  gray,  white,  and  green  tint  perfectly  blended  lay 
like  a  mantle  over  mesquire  and  sand  and  cactus.  The 
canons  of  distant  mountain  showed  deep  and  full  of  lilac 
haze. 

Nell  sat  perched  high  upon  the  topmost  bar  of  the  corral 
gate.  Dick  leaned  beside  her,  now  with  his  eyes  on  her 
face,  now  gazing  out  into  the  alfalfa  field  where  Belding's 
thoroughbreds  grazed  and  pranced  and  romped  and 
whistled.  Nell  watched  the  horses.  She  loved  them, 
never  tired  of  watching  them.  But  her  gaze  was  too 
consciously  averted  from  the  yearning  eyes  that  tried  to 
meet  hers  to  be  altogether  natural. 

A  great  fenced  field  of  velvety  green  alfalfa  fur 
nished  a  rich  background  for  the  drove  of  about  twenty 
white  horses.  Even  without  the  horses  the  field  would 
have  presented  a  striking  contrast  to  the  surrounding  hot, 
glaring  blaze  of  rock  and  sand.  Belding  had  bred  a  hun 
dred  or  more  horses  from  the  original  stock  he  had  brought 
up  from  Durango.  His  particular  interest  was  in  the  al 
most  unblemished  white,  and  these  he  had  given  especial 
care.  He  made  a  good  deal  of  money  selling  this  strain 
to  friends  among  the  ranchers  back  in  Texas.  No  mer 
cenary  consideration,  however,  could  have  made  him 
part  with  the  great,  rangy  white  horses  he  had  gotten 
from  the  Durango  breeder.  They  were  named  Blanco 
Diablo  (White  Devil),  Blanco  Sol  (White  Sun),  Blanca 
Reina  (White  Queen),  Blanca  Mujer  (White  Woman), 
and  El  Grande  Blanco  Torres  (The  Big  White  Bull). 
Belding  had  been  laughed  at  by  ranchers  for  preserving 
the  sentimental  Durango  names,  and  he  had  been  un 
mercifully  ridiculed  by  cowboys.  But  the  names  had 
never  been  changed. 

Blanco  Diablo  was  the  only  horse  in  the  field  that  was 
not  free  to  roam  and  graze  where  he  listed.  A  stake  and 
a  halter  held  him  to  one  corner,  where  he  was  severely 
let  alone  by  the  other  horses.  He  did  not  like  this  isola 
tion,  Blanco  Diablo  was  not  happy  unless  he  was  run- 

122 


WHITE  HORSES 

ning,  or  fighting  a  rival.  Of  the  two  he  would  rather 
fight.  If  anything  white  could  resemble  a  devil,  this 
horse  surely  did.  He  had  nothing  beautiful  about  him, 
yet  he  drew  the  gaze  and  held  it.  The  look  of  him  sug 
gested  discontent,  anger,  revolt,  viciousness.  When  he 
was  not  grazing  or  prancing,  he  held  his  long,  lean  head 
level,  pointing  his  nose  and  showing  his  teeth.  Belding's 
favorite  was  almost  all  the  world  to  him,  and  he  swore 
Diablo  could  stand  more  heat  and  thirst  and  cactus  than 
any  other  horse  he  owned,  and  could  run  down  and  kill 
any  horse  in  the  Southwest.  The  fact  that  Ladd  did  not 
agree  with  Belding  on  these  salient  points  was  a  great  dis 
appointment,  and  also  a  perpetual  source  for  argument. 
Ladd  and  Lash  both  hated  Diablo ;  and  Dick  Gale,  after 
one  or  two  narrow  escapes  from  being  brained,  had  in 
clined  to  the  cowboys'  side  of  the  question. 

El  Grande  Blanco  Torres  upheld  his  name.  He  was  a 
huge,  massive,  thick-flanked  stallion,  a  kingly  mate  for 
tiis  full-bodied,  glossy  consort,  Blanca  Reina.  The  other 
qnare,  Blanca  Mujer,  was  dazzling  white,  without  a  spot, 
perfectly  pointed,  racy,  graceful,  elegant,  yet  carrying 
weight  and  brawn  and  range  that  suggested  her  relation 
to  her  forebears. 

The  cowboys  admitted  some  of  Belding's  claims  for 
Diablo,  but  they  gave  loyal  and  unshakable  allegiance  to 
Blanco  Sol.  As  for  Dick,  he  had  to  fight  himself  to  keep 
out  of  arguments,  for  he  sometimes  imagined  he  was  un 
reasonable  about  the  horse.  Though  he  could  not  under 
stand  himself,  he  knew  he  loved  Sol  as  a  man  loved  a 
friend,  a  brother.  Free  of  heavy  saddle  and  the  clumsy 
leg  shields,  Blanco  Sol  was  somehow  all-satisfying  to  the 
eyes  of  the  rangers.  As  long  and  big  as  Diablo  was,  Sol 
was  longer  and  bigger.  Also,  he  was  higher,  more  power 
ful.  He  looked  more  a  thing  for  action — speedier.  At 
a  distance  the  honorable  scars  and  lumps  that  marred 
his  muscular  legs  were  not  visible.  He  grazed  aloof  from 
the  others,  and  did  not  cavort  nor  prance ;  but  when  he 

123 


DESERT   GOLD 

lifted  his  head  to  whistle,  how  wild  he  appeared,  and 
proud  and  splendid !  The  dazzling  whiteness  of  the  desert 
sun  shone  from  his  coat ;  he  had  the  fire  and  spirit  of  the 
desert  in  his  noble  head,  its  strength  and  power  in  his 
gigantic  frame. 

"Belding  swears  Sol  never  beat  Diablo,"  Dick  was 
saying. 

"He  believes  it,"  replied  Nell.  "Dad  is  queer  about 
that  horse/' 

"But  Laddy  rode  Sol  once — made  him  beat  Diablo. 
Jim  saw  the  race." 

Nell  laughed.  "I  saw  it,  too.  For  that  matter,  even 
I  have  made  Sol  put  his  nose  before  Dad's  favorite." 

"I'd  like  to  have  seen  that.  Nell,  aren't  you  ever 
going  to  ride  with  me  ?" 

"Some  day — when  it's  safe." 

"Safe!" 

"I — I  mean  when  the  raiders  have  left  the  border." 

"Oh,  I'm  glad  you  mean  that,"  said  Dick,  laughing. 
"Well,  I've  often  wondered  how  Belding  ever  came  to 
give  Blanco  Sol  to  me." 

"He  was  jealous.    I  think  he  wanted  to  get  rid  of  Sol." 

"No?  Why,  Nell,  he'd  give  Laddy  or  Jim  one  of  the 
whites  any  day." 

1  "Would  he?  Not  Devil  or  Queen  or  White  Woman. 
Never  in  this  world !  But  Dad  has  lots  of  fast  horses  the 
boys  could  pick  from.  Dick,  I  tell  you  Dad  wants  Blanco 
Sol  to  run  himself  out — lose  his  speed  on  the  desert. 
Dad  is  just  jealous  for  Diablo." 

"Maybe.  He  surely  has  strange  passion  for  horses.  I 
think  I  understand  better  than  I  used  to.  I  owned  a 
couple  of  racers  once.  They  were  just  animals  to  me, 
I  guess.  But  Blanco  Sol !" 

"Do  you  love  him  ?"  asked  Nell ;  and  now  a  warm,  blue 
flash  of  eyes  swept  his  face. 

"Do  I?    Well,  rather." 

"I'm  glad.    Sol  has  been  finer,  a  better  horse  since  you 
124 


WHITE  HORSES 

Owned  him.  He  loves  you,  Dick.  He's  always  watching 
for  you.  See  him  raise  his  head.  That's  for  you.  I  know 
as  much  about  horses  as  Dad  or  Laddy  any  day.  Sol 
always  hated  Diablo,  and  never  had  much  use  for  Dad." 

Dick  looked  up  at  her. 

"It'll  be — be  pretty  hard  to  leave  Sol — when  I  go 
away." 

Nell  sat  perfectly  still. 

"Go  away?"  she  asked,  presently,  with  just  the  faint 
est  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"Yes.  Sometimes  when  I  get  blue — as  I  am  to-day — 
I  think  I'll  go.  But,  in  sober  truth,  Nell,  it's  not  likely 
that  I'll  spend  all  my  life  here." 

There  was  no  answer  to  this.  Dick  put  his  hand  softly 
over  hers ;  and,  despite  her  half-hearted  struggle  to  free 
it,  he  held  on. 

"Nell!" 

Her  color  fled.  He  saw  her  lips  part.  Then  a  heavy 
step  on  the  gravel,  a  cheerful,  complaining  voice  inter 
rupted  him,  and  made  him  release  Nell  and  draw  back. 
Belding  strode  into  view  round  the  adobe  shed. 

"Hey,  Dick,  that  darned  Yaqui  Indian  can't  be  driven 
or  hired  or  coaxed  to  leave  Forlorn  River.  He's  well 
enough  to  travel.  I  offered  him  horse,  gun,  blanket,  grub. 
But  no  go." 

"That's  funny,"  replied  Gale,  with  a  smile.  "Let  him 
stay — put  him  to  work." 

"It  doesn't  strike  me  funny.  But  I'll  tell  you  what 
i  think.  That  poor,  homeless,  heartbroken  Indian  has 
taken  a  liking  to  you,  Dick.  These  desert  Yaquis  are 
strange  folk.  I've  heard  strange  stories  about  them. 
I'd  believe  'most  anything.  And  that's  how  I  figure  his 
case.  You  saved  his  life.  That  sort  of  thing  counts  big 
with  any  Indian,  even  with  an  Apache.  With  a  Yaqui 
maybe  it's  of  deep  significance.  I've  heard  a  Yaqui  say 
that  with  his  tribe  no  debt  to  friend  or  foe  ever  went 
unpaid.  Perhaps  that's  what  ails  this  fellow." 

125 


DESERT   GOLD 

"Dick,  don't  laugh,"  said  Nell.  "I've  noticed  the 
Yaqui.  It's  pathetic  the  way  his  great  gloomy  eyes 
follow  you." 

"You've  made  a  friend,"  continued  Belding.  "A 
Yaqui  could  be  a  real  friend  on  this  desert.  If  he  gets 
his  strength  back  he'll  be  of  service  to  you,  don't  mistake 
me.  He's  welcome  here.  But  you're  responsible  for  him, 
and  you'll  have  trouble  keeping  him  from  massacring  all 
the  Greasers  in  Forlorn  River." 

The  probability  of  a  visit  from  the  raiders,  and  a  dash 
bolder  than  usual  on  the  outskirts  of  a  ranch,  led  Belding 
to  build  a  new  corral.  It  was  not  sightly  to  the  eye,  but 
it  was  high  and  exceedingly  strong.  The  gate  was  a  mas 
sive  affair,  swinging  on  huge  hinges  and  fastening  with 
heavy  chains  and  padlocks.  On  the  outside  it  had  been 
completely  covered  with  barb  wire,  which  would  make  it 
a  troublesome  thing  to  work  on  in  the  dark. 

At  night  Belding  locked  his  white  horses  in  this  corral. 
The  Papago  herdsman  slept  in  the  adobe  shed  adjoining. 
Belding  did  not  imagine  that  any  wooden  fence,  however 
substantially  built,  could  keep  determined  raiders  from 
breaking  it  down.  They  would  have  to  take  time,  how 
ever,  and  make  considerable  noise ;  and  Belding  relied  on 
these  facts.  Belding  did  not  believe  a  band  of  night 
raiders  would  hold  out  against  a  hot  rifle  fire.  So  he  began 
to  make  up  some  of  the  sleep  he  had  lost.  It  was  note 
worthy,  however,  that  Ladd  did  not  share  Belding's 
sanguine  hopes. 

Jim  Lash  rode  in,  reporting  that  all  was  well  out  along 
the  line  toward  the  Sonoyta  Oasis.  Days  passed,  and 
Belding  kept  his  rangers  home.  Nothing  was  heard  of 
raiders  at  hand.  Many  of  the  newcomers,  both  American 
and  Mexican,  who  came  with  wagons  and  pack  trains 
from  Casita  stated  that  property  and  life  were  cheap 
back  in  that  rebel-infested  town. 

One  January  morning  Dick  Gale  was  awakened  by  a 

1*6 


WHITE  HORSES 

shrill,  menacing  cry.  He  leaped  up  bewildered  and 
frightened.  He  heard  Belding's  booming  voice  answering 
shouts,  and  rapid  steps  on  flagstones.  But  these  had  not 
awakened  him.  Heavy  breaths,  almost  sobs,  seemed  at 
his  very  door.  In  the  cold  and  gray  dawn  Dick  saw  some 
thing  white.  Gun  in  hand,  he  bounded  across  the  room. 
Just  outside  his  door  stood  Blanco  Sol. 

It  was  not  unusual  for  Sol  to  come  poking  his  head  in 
at  Dick's  door  during  daylight.  But  now  in  the  early 
dawn,  when  he  had  been  locked  in  the  corral,  it  meant 
raiders — no  less.  Dick  called  softly  to  the  snorting  horse ; 
and,  hurriedly  getting  into  clothes  and  boots,  he  went  out 
with  a  gun  in  each  hand.  Sol  was  quivering  in  every 
muscle.  Like  a  dog  he  followed  Dick  around  the  house, 
Hearing  shouts  in  the  direction  of  the  corrals,  Gale  bent 
swift  steps  that  way. 

He  caught  up  with  Jim  Lash,  who  was  also  leading  a 
white  horse. 

"Hello,  Jim !  Guess  it's  all  over  but  the  fireworks,"  said 
Dick. 

"I  cain't  say  just  what  has  come  off,"  replied  Lash. 
"I've  got  the  Bull.  Found  him  runnin'  in  the  yard." 

They  reached  the  corral  to  find  Belding  shaking,  roar 
ing  like  a  madman.  The  gate  was  open,  the  corral  was 
empty.  Ladd  stooped  over  the  ground,  evidently  trying 
to  find  tracks. 

"I  reckon  we  might  jest  as  well  cool  off  an'  wait  for 
daylight,"  suggested  Jim. 

"Shore.  They've  flown  the  coop,  you  can  gamble  on 
that.  Tom,  where's  the  Papago  ?"  said  Ladd. 

"He's  gone,  Laddy— gone!" 

"Double-crossed  us,  eh?  I  see  here's  a  crowbar  lyin' 
by  the  gatepost.  That  Indian  fetched  it  from  the  forge. 
It  was  used  to  pry  out  the  bolts  an*  steeples.  Tom, 
I  reckon  there  wasn't  much  time  lost  forcin'  that 
gate." 

Belding,  in  shirt  sleeves  and  barefooted,  roared  with 


DESERT  GOLD 

rage.  He  said  he  had  heard  the  horses  running  as  he 
leaped  out  of  bed. 

"What  woke  you  ?"  asked  Laddy. 

"Sol.  He  came  whistling  for  Dick.  Didn't  yov  hear 
him  before  I  called  you?" 

"Hear  him!  He  came  thunderin'  right  under  my 
window.  I  jumped  up  in  bed,  an*  when  he  let  out  that 
blast  Jim  lit  square  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  an*  I  was 
scared  stiff.  Dick,  seein'  it  was  your  room  he  blew  into, 
what  did  you  think?" 

"I  couldn't  think.  I'm  shaking  yet,  Laddy." 

"Boys,  I'll  bet  Sol  spilled  a  few  raiders  if  any  got  hands 
on  him,"  said  Jim.  "Now,  let's  sit  down  an*  wait  for 
daylight.  It's  my  idea  we'll  find  some  of  the  hosses 
runnin*  loose.  Tom,  you  go  an'  get  some  clothes  on. 
It's  f reezin'  cold.  An'  don't  forget  to  tell  the  women  folks 
we're  all  right." 

Daylight  made  clear  some  details  of  the  raid.  The  cow 
boys  found  tracks  of  eight  raiders  coming  up  from  the 
river  bed  where  their  horses  had  been  left.  Evidently  the 
Papago  had  been  false  to  his  trust.  His  few  personal  be 
longings  were  gone.  Lash  was  correct  in  his  idea  of  find 
ing  more  horses  loose  in  the  fields.  The  men  soon  rounded 
up  eleven  of  the  whites,  all  more  or  less  frightened, 
and  among  the  number  were  Queen  and  Blanka  Mujer. 
The  raiders  had  been  unable  to  handle  more  than  one 
horse  for  each  man.  It  was  bitter  irony  of  fate  that 
Belding  should  lose  his  favorite,  the  one  horse  more  deal 
to  him  than  all  the  others.  Somewhere  out  on  the  trail  a 
raider  was  fighting  the  iron- jawed  savage  Blanco  Diablo. 

"I  reckon  we're  some  lucky,"  observed  Jim  Lash. 

"Lucky  ain't  enough  word,"  replied  Ladd.  "You  see, 
it  was  this  way.  Some  of  the  raiders  piled  over  the  fence 
while  the  others  worked  on  the  gate.  Mebbe  the  Papago 
went  inside  to  pick  out  the  best  hosses.  But  it  didn't 
work  except  with  Diablo,  an'  how  they  ever  got  him 
I  don't  know.  I'd  have  gambled  it'd  take  all  of  eight 

128 


WHITE   HORSES 

men  to  steal  him.  But  Greasers  have  got  us  skinned  on 
handlin*  hosses." 

Belding  was  unconsolable.  He  cursed  and  railed,  and 
finally  declared  he  was  going  to  trail  the  raiders. 

"Tom,  you  just  ain't  agoin'  to  do  nothin*  of  the  kind," 
said  Laddy,  coolly. 

Belding  groaned  and  bowed  his  head. 

"Laddy,  you're  right,"  he  replied,  presently.  "I've  got 
to  stand  it.  I  can't  leave  the  women  and  my  property. 
But  it's  sure  tough.  I'm  sore  way  down  deep,  and  nothin* 
but  blood  would  ever  satisfy  me." 

"Leave  that  to  me  an'  Jim,"  said  Ladd. 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do?"  demanded  Belding, 
starting  up. 

"Shore  I  don't  know  yet.. . .  Give  me  a  light  for  my 
pipe.  An*  Dick,  go  fetch  out  your  Yaqui." 


VIII 

THE  RUNNING  OF  BLANCO  SOL 

THE  Yaqui's  strange  dark  glance  roved  over  the 
corral,  the  swinging  gate  with  its  broken  fastenings, 
the  tracks  in  the  road,  and  then  rested  upon  Belding. 

"Malo,"  he  said,  and  his  Spanish  was  clear. 

"Shore  Yaqui,  about  eight  bad  men,  an*  a  traitor 
Indian,"  said  Ladd. 

"I  think  he  means  my  herder,"  added  Belding.  "If 
he  does,  that  settles  any  doubt  it  might  be  decent  to 
have — Yaqui — malo  Papago — Si  ?" 

The  Yaqui  spread  wide  his  hands.  Then  he  bent  ovei 
the  tracks  in  the  road.  They  led  everywhither,  but 
gradually  he  worked  out  of  the  thick  net  to  take  the  trail 
that  the  cowboys  had  followed  down  to  the  river.  Beld 
ing  and  the  rangers  kept  close  at  his  heels.  Occasionally 
Dick  lent  a  helping  hand  to  the  still  feeble  Indian.  He 
found  a  trampled  spot  where  the  raiders  had  left  their 
horses.  From  this  point  a  deeply  defined  narrow  trail 
led  across  the  dry  river  bed. 

Belding  asked  the  Yaqui  where  the  raiders  would  head 
for  in  the  Sonora  Desert.  For  answer  the  Indian  followed 
the  trail  across  the  stream  of  sand,  through  willows  and 
mesquite,  up  to  the  level  of  rock  and  cactus.  At  this 
point  he  halted.  A  sand-filled,  almost  obliterated  trail 
led  off  to  the  left,  and  evidently  went  round  to  the  east 
of  No  Name  Mountains.  To  the  right  stretched  the  road 
toward  Papago  Well  and  the  Sonoyta  Oasis.  The  trail 
of  the  raiders  took  a  southeasterly  course  over  untrodden 

130 


RUNNING  OF  BLANCO  SOL 

desert.  The  Yaqui  spoke  in  his  own  tongue,  then  in 
Spanish. 

"Think  he  means  slow  march,"  said  Belding.  "Laddy, 
from  the  looks  of  that  trail  the  Greasers  are  having 
trouble  with  the  horses." 

"Tom,  shore  a  boy  could  see  that,"  replied  Laddy. 
"'Ask  Yaqui  to  tell  us  whefe  the  raiders  are  headin',  an' 
if  there's  water." 

It  was  wonderful  to  see  the  Yaqui  point.  His  dark 
hand  stretched ;  he  sighted  over  his  stretched  ringer  at  a 
low  white  escarpment  in  the  distance.  Then  with  a 
stick  he  traced  a  line  in  the  sand,  and  then  at  the  end 
of  that  another  line  at  right  angles.  He  made  crosses 
and  marks  and  holes,  and  as  he  drew  the  rude  map  he 
talked  in  Yaqui,  in  Spanish ;  with  a  word  here  and  there 
in  English.  Belding  translated  as  best  he  could.  The 
raiders  were  heading  southeast  toward  the  railroad  that 
ran  from  Nogales  down  into  Sonora.  It  was  four  days' 
travel,  bad  trail,  good  sure  waterhole  one  day  out; 
then  water  not  sure  for  two  days.  Raiders  traveling 
slow;  bothered  by  too  many  horses,  not  looking  for 
pursuit;  were  never  pursued,  could  be  headed  and  am 
bushed  that  night  at  the  first  waterhole,  a  natural  trap 
in  a  valley. 

The  men  returned  to  the  ranch.  The  rangers  ate  and 
drank  while  making  hurried  preparations  for  travel. 
Blanco  Sol  and  the  cowboys'  horses  were  fed,  watered, 
and  saddled.  Ladd  again  refused  to  ride  one  of  Belding's 
whites.  He  was  quick  and  cold. 

"Get  me  a  long-range  rifle  an'  lots  of  shells.  Rustle 
now,'*  he  said. 

"Laddy,  you  don't  want  to  be  weighted  down?"  pro 
tested  Belding. 

"Shore  I  want  a  gun  that  '11  outshoot  the  dinky  little 
carbines  an'  muskets  used  by  the  rebels.  Trot  one  out 
an'  be  quick." 

"I've  got  a   .405,   a  long-barreled  heavy  rifle  that  II 


DESERT   GOLD 

shoot  a  mile.  I  use  it  for  mountain  sheep.  But  Laddy, 
it'll  break  that  bronch's  back." 

"His  back  won't  break  so  easy Dick,  take  plenty 

of  shells  for  your  Remington.  An'  don't  forget  your 
field  glass." 

In  less  than  an  hour  after  the  time  of  the  raid  the  three 
rangers,  heavily  armed  and  superbly  mounted  on  fresh 
horses,  rode  out  on  the  trail.  As  Gale  turned  to  look 
back  from  the  far  bank  of  Forlorn  River,  he  saw  Nell 
waving  a  white  scarf.  He  stood  high  in  his  stirrups  and 
waved  his  sombrero.  Then  the  mesquite  hid  the  girl's 
slight  figure,  and  Gale  wheeled  grim- faced  to  follow  the 
rangers. 

They  rode  in  single  file  with  Ladd  in  the  lead.  He  did 
not  keep  to  the  trail  of  the  raiders  all  the  time.  He  made 
short  cuts.  The  raiders  were  traveling  leisurely,  and  they 
evinced  a  liking  for  the  most  level  and  least  cactus-covered 
stretches  of  ground.  But  the  cowboy  took  a  bee-line 
course  for  the  white  escarpment  pointed  out  by  the 
Yaqui;  and  nothing  save  deep  washes  and  impassable 
patches  of  cactus  or  rocks  made  him  swerve  from  it.  He 
kept  the  broncho  at  a  steady  walk  over  the  rougher  places 
and  at  a  swinging  Indian  canter  over  the  hard  and  level 
ground.  The  sun  grew  hot  and  the  wind  began  to  blow. 
Dust  clouds  rolled  along  the  blue  horizon.  Whirling 
columns  of  sand,  like  water  spouts  at  sea,  circled  up  out 
of  white  arid  basins,  and  swept  away  and  spread  aloft 
before  the  wind.  The  escarpment  began  to  rise,  to  change 
color,  to  show  breaks  upon  its  rocky  face. 

Whenever  the  rangers  rode  out  on  the  brow  of  a  knoll 
or  ridge  or  an  eminence,  before  starting  to  descend,  Ladd 
required  of  Gale  a  long,  careful,  sweeping  survey  of  the 
desert  ahead  through  the  field  glass.  There  were  streams 
of  white  dust  to  be  seen,  streaks  of  yellow  dust,  trailing 
low  clouds  of  sand  over  the  glistening  dunes,  but  no 
steadily  rising,  uniformly  shaped  puffs  that  would  tell  a 
tale  of  moving  horses  on  the  desert. 

132 


RUNNING  OF  BLANCO  SOL 

At  noon  the  rangers  got  out  of  the  thick  cactus.  More 
over,  the  gravel-bottomed  washes,  the  low  weathering, 
rotting  ledges  of  yellow  rock  gave  place  to  hard  sandy 
rolls  and  bare  clay  knolls.  The  desert  resembled  a  round 
ed  hummocky  sea  of  color.  All  light  shades  of  blue  and 
pink  and  yellow  and  mauve  were  there  dominated  by  the 
glaring  white  sun.  Mirages  glistened,  wavered,  faded  in 
the  shimmering  waves  of  heat.  Dust  as  fine  as  powder 
whiffed  from  under  the  tireless  hoofs. 

The  rangers  rode  on  and  the  escarpment  began  to  loom. 
The  desert  floor  inclined  perceptibly  upward.  When 
Gale  got  an  unobstructed  view  of  the  slope  of  the  escarp 
ment  he  located  the  raiders  and  horses.  In  another 
hour's  travel  the  rangers  could  see  with  naked  eyes  a 
long,  faint  moving  streak  of  black  and  white  dots. 

"They're  headin'  for  that  yellow  pass,"  said  Ladd, 
pointing  to  a  break  in  the  eastern  end  of  the  escarp 
ment.  "When  they  get  out  of  sight  we'll  rustle.  I'm 
thinkin'  that  waterhole  the  Yaqui  spoke  of  lays  in  the 
pass." 

The  rangers  traveled  swiftly  over  the  remaining  miles 
of  level  desert  leading  to  the  ascent  of  the  escarpment. 
When  they  achieved  the  gateway  of  the  pass  the  sun  was 
low  in  the  west.  Dwarfed  mesquite  and  greasewood 
appeared  among  the  rocks.  Ladd  gave  the  word  to  tie 
up  horses  and  go  forward  on  foot. 

The  narrow  neck  of  the  pass  opened  and  descended  into 
a  valley  half  a  mile  wide,  perhaps  twice  that  in  length. 
It  had  apparently  unscalable  slopes  of  weathered  rock 
leading  up  to  beetling  walls.  With  floor  bare  and  hard 
and  white,  except  for  a  patch  of  green  mesquite  near  the 
far  end,  it  was  a  lurid  and  desolate  spot,  the  barren  bot 
tom  of  a  desert  bowl. 

"Keep  down,  boys,"  said  Ladd.  "There's  the  water- 
hole,  an'  hosses  have  sharp  eyes.  Shore  the  Yaqui 
figgered  this  place.  I  never  seen  its  like  for  a  trap." 

Both  white  and  black  horses  showed  against  the  green, 

133 


DESERT    GOLD 

and  a  thin  curling  column  of  blue  smoke  rose  lazily  from 
amid  the  mesquites. 

"I  reckon  we'd  better  wait  till  dark,  or  mebby  day 
light,"  said  Jim  Lash. 

"Let  me  figger  some.  Dick,  what  do  you  make  of  the 
outlet  to  this  hole  ?  Looks  rough  to  me." 

With  his  glass  Gale  studied  the  narrow  construction  of 
walls  and  roughened  rising  floor. 

"Laddy,  it's  harder  to  get  out  at  that  end  than  here," 
he  replied. 

"Shore  that's  hard  enough.  Let  me  have  a  look. . . . 
Well,  boys,  it  don't  take  no  figgerin*  for  this  job.  Jim, 
I'll  want  you  at  the  other  end  blockin'  the  pass  when  we're 
ready  to  start." 

"When '11  that  be?"  inquired  Jim. 

"Soon  as  it's  light  enough  in  the  mornin'.  That 
Greaser  outfit  will  hang  till  to-morrow.  There's  no 
sure  water  ahead  for  two  days,  you  remember." 

"I  reckon  I  can  slip  through  to  the  other  end  after 
dark,"  said  Lash,  thoughtfully.  "It  might  get  me  in 
bad  to  go  round." 

The  rangers  stole  back  from  the  vantage  point  and  re 
turned  to  their  horses,  which  they  untied  and  left  farther 
round  among  broken  sections  of  cliff.  For  the  horses  it 
was  a  dry,  hungry  camp,  but  the  rangers  built  a  fire  and 
had  their  short  though  strengthening  meal. 

The  location  was  high,  and  through  a  break  in  the 
jumble  of  rocks  the  great  colored  void  of  desert  could  be 
seen  rolling  away  endlessly  to  the  west.  The  sun  set, 
and  after  it  had  gone  down  the  golden  tips  of  mountains 
dulled,  their  lower  shadows  creeping  upward. 

Jim  Lash  rolled  in  his  saddle  blanket,  his  feet  near  the 
fire,  and  went  to  sleep.  Ladd  told  Gale  to  do  likewise 
while  he  kept  the  fire  up  and  waited  until  it  was  late 
enough  for  Jim  to  undertake  circling  round  the  raiders. 
When  Gale  awakened  the  night  was  dark,  cold,  windy. 
[The  stars  shone  with  white  brilliance.  Jim  was  up  saddling 

134 


RUNNING  OF  BLANCO  SOL 

his  horse,  and  Ladd  was  talking  low.  When  Gale  rose  to 
accompany  them  both  rangers  said  he  need  not  go.  But 
Gale  wanted  to  go,  because  that  was  the  thing  Ladd  or 
|Jim  would  have  done. 

With  Ladd  leading,  they  moved  away  into  the  gloom. 
Advance  was  exceedingly  slow,  careful,  silent.  Under  the 
walls  the  blackness  seemed  impenetrable.  The  horse  was 
as  cautious  as  his  master.  Ladd  did  not  lose  his  way, 
nevertheless  he  wound  between  blocks  of  stone  and  clumps 
of  mesquite,  and  often  tried  a  passage  to  abandon  it. 
Finally  the  trail  showed  pale  in  the  gloom,  and  eastern 
stars  twinkled  between  the  lofty  ramparts  of  the  pass. 

The  advance  here  was  still  as  stealthily  made  as  before, 
but  not  so  difficult  or  slow.  When  the  dense  gloom  of  the 
pass  lightened,  and  there  was  a  wide  space  of  sky  and 
stars  overhead,  Ladd  halted  and  stood  silent  a  moment. 

"Luck  again!"  he  whispered.  'The  wind's  in  your 
face,  Jim.  The  horses  won't  scent  you.  Go  slow.  Don't 
crack  a  stone.  Keep  close  under  the  wall.  Try  to  get 
•up  as  high  as  this  at  the  other  end.  Wait  till  daylight 
before  riskin'  a  loose  slope.  I'll  be  ridin'  the  job  early. 
That's  all." 

Ladd's  cool,  easy  speech  was  scarcely  significant  of  the 
perilous  undertaking.  Lash  moved  very  slowly  away, 
leading  his  horse.  The  soft  pads  of  hoofs  ceased  to  sound 
about  the  time  the  gray  shape  merged  into  the  black 
shadows.  Then  Ladd  touched  Dick's  arm,  and  turned 
back  up  the  trail. 

But  Dick  tarried  a  moment.  He  wanted  a  fuller  sense 
of  that  ebony-bottomed  abyss,  with  its  pale  encircling 
walls  reaching  up  to  the  dusky  blue  sky  and  the  brilliant 
stars.  There  was  absolutely  no  sound. 

He  retraced  his  steps  down,  soon  coming  up  with  Ladd ; 
and  together  they  picked  a  way  back  through  the  winding 
recesses  of  cliff.  The  campfire  was  smoldering.  Ladd 
replenished  it  and  lay  down  to  get  a  few  hours'  sleep, 
while  Gale  kept  watch.  The  after  part  of  the  night  wore 

135 


DESERT   GOLD 

on  till  the  paling  of  stars,  the  thickening  of  gloom  in 
dicated  the  dark  hour  before  dawn.  The  spot  was  se 
cluded  from  wind,  but  the  air  grew  cold  as  ice.  Gale 
spent  the  time  stripping  wood  from  a  dead  mesquite,  in 
pacing  to  and  fro,  in  listening.  Blanco  Sol  stamped 
occasionally,  which  sound  was  all  that  broke  the  stillness. 
Ladd  awoke  before  the  faintest  gray  appeared.  The 
rangers  ate  and  drank.  When  the  black  did  lighten  to 
gray  they  saddled  the  horses  and  led  them  out  to  the  pass 
and  down  to  the  point  where  they  had  parted  with  Lash. 
Here  they  awaited  daylight. 

To  Gale  it  seemed  long  in  coming.  Such  a  delay  always 
aggravated  the  slow  fire  within  him.  He  had  nothing 
of  Ladd's  patience.  He  wanted  action.  The  gray  shadow 
below  thinned  out,  and  the  patch  of  mesquite  made  a 
blot  upon  the  pale  valley.  Then  day  dawned. 

Still  Ladd  waited.  He  grew  more  silent,  grimmer  as 
the  time  of  action  approached.  Gale  wondered  what  the 
plan  of  attack  would  be.  Yet  he  did  not  ask.  He  waited 
ready  for  orders. 

The  valley  grew  clear  of  gray  shadow  except  under 
leaning  walls  on  the  eastern  side.  Then  a  straight  column 
of  smoke  rose  from  among  the  mesquites.  Manifestly 
this  was  what  Ladd  had  been  awaiting.  He  took  the 
long  .405  from  its  sheath  and  tried  the  lever.  Then  he 
lifted  a  cartridge  belt  from  the  pommel  of  his  saddle. 
Every  ring  held  a  shell  and  these  shells  were  four  inches 
long.  He  buckled  the  belt  round  him. 

"Come  on,  Dick." 

Ladd  led  the  way  down  the  slope  until  he  reached  a 
position  that  commanded  the  rising  of  the  trail  from  a 
level.  It  was  the  only  place  a  man  or  horse  could  leave 
the  valley  for  the  pass. 

"Dick,  here's  your  stand.  If  any  raider  rides  in  range 

take  a  crack  at  him Now  I  want  the  lend  of  your 

boss." 

"Blanco  Sol!"  exclaimed  Gale,  more  in  amaze  thai 

136 


RUNNING  OF  BLANCO  SOL 

Ladd  should  ask  for  the  horse  than  in  reluctance  to  lend 
him. 

"Will  you  let  me  have  him?"  Ladd  repeated,  almost 
curtly. 

"Certainly,  Laddy." 

A  smile  momentarily  chased  the  dark  cold  gloom  that 
had  set  upon  the  ranger's  lean  face. 

"  Shore  I  appreciate  it,  Dick.  I  know  how  you  care 
for  that  hoss.  I  guess  mebbe  Charley  Ladd  has  loved  a 
hoss!  An*  one  not  so  good  as  Sol.  I  was  only  tryin* 
your  nerve,  Dick,  askinj  you  without  tellin'  my  plan. 
Sol  won't  get  a  scratch,  you  can  gamble  on  that!  I'll 
ride  him  down  into  the  valley  an*  pull  the  Greasers  out 
in  the  open.  They've  got  short-ranged  carbines.  They 
can't  keep  out  of  range  of  the  .405,  an*  I'll  be  takin'  the 
dust  of  their  lead.  Sabe,  sefior?" 

"Laddy!  You'll  run  Sol  away  from  the  raiders  when 
they  chase  you?  Run  him  after  them  when  they  try 
to  get  away?" 

"Shore.  I'll  run  all  the  time.  They  can't  gain  on 
Sol,  an'  he'll  run  them  down  when  I  want.  Can  you  beat 
it?" 

"No.  It's  great ! . . .  But  suppose  a  raider  comes  out 
on  Blanco  Diablo?" 

"I  reckon  that's  the  one  weak  place  in  my  plan.  I'm 
figgerin'  they'll  never  think  of  that  till  it's  too  late.  But 
if  they  do,  well,  Sol  can  outrun  Diablo.  An*  I  can  always 
kill  the  white  devil !" 

Ladd's  strange  hate  of  the  horse  showed  in  the  passion 
of  his  last  words,  in  his  hardening  jaw  and  grim  set  lips. 

Gale's  hand  went  swiftly  to  the  ranger's  shoulder. 

"Laddy.  Don't  kill  Diablo  unless  it's  to  save  your 
life." 

"All  right.  But,  by  God,  if  I  get  a  chance  I'll  make 
Blanco  Sol  run  him  off  his  legs !" 

He  spoke  no  more  and  set  about  changing  the  length  of 
Sol's  stirrups.  When  he  had  them  adjusted  to  suit  he 

137 


DESERT   GOLD 

mounted  and  rode  down  the  trail  and  out  upon  the  level. 
He  rode  leisurely  as  if  merely  going  to  water  his  horse. 
The  long  black  rifle  lying  across  his  saddle,  however,  was 
ominous. 

Gale  securely  tied  the  other  horse  to  a  mesquite  at 
hand,  and  took  a  position  behind  a  low  rock  over  which 
he  could  easily  see  and  shoot  when  necessary.  He  imag 
ined  Jim  Lash  in  a  similar  position  at  the  far  end  of  the 
valley  blocking  the  outlet.  Gale  had  grown  accustomed 
to  danger  and  the  hard  and  fierce  feelings  peculiar  to  it. 
But  the  coming  drama  was  so  peculiarly  different  in 
promise  from  all  he  had  experienced,  that  he  awaited  the 
moment  of  action  with  thrilling  intensity.  In  him  stirred 
long,  brooding  wrath  at  these  border  raiders — affection 
for  Belding,  and  keen  desire  to  avenge  the  outrages  he 
had  suffered — warm  admiration  for  the  cold,  implacable 
Ladd  and  his  absolute  fearlessness,  and  a  curious  throb 
bing  interest  in  the  old,  much-discussed  and  never- 
decided  argument  as  to  whether  Blanco  Sol  was  a  fleeter, 
stronger  horse  than  Blanco  Diablo.  Gale  felt  that  he  was 
lo  see  a  race  between  these  great  rivals — the  kind  of  race 
that  made  men  and  horses  terrible. 

Ladd  rode  a  quarter  of  a  mile  out  upon  the  flat  before 
anything  happened.  Then  a  whistle  rent  the  still,  cold 
air.  A  horse  had  seen  or  scented  Blanco  Sol.  The 
whistle  was  prolonged,  faint,  but  clear.  It  made  the  blood 
thrum  in  Gale's  ears.  Sol  halted.  His  head  shot  up  with 
the  old,  wild,  spirited  sweep.  Gale  leveled  his  glass  at 
the  patch  of  mesquites.  He  saw  the  raiders  running  to 
an  open  place,  pointing,  gesticulating.  The  glass  brought 
them  so  close  that  he  saw  dark  faces.  Suddenly  they 
broke  and  fled  back  among  the  trees.  Then  he  got  only 
white  and  dark  gleams  of  moving  bodies.  Evidently 
that  xnoment  was  one  of  boots,  guns,  and  saddles  for  the 
raiders. 

Lowering  the  glass,  Gale  saw  that  Blanco  Sol  had 
started  forward  again.  His  gait  was  now  a  canter,  and 

us 


RUNNING  OF  B'EKN'CO   SOL 

he  had  covered  another  quarter  of  a  mile  before  horses 
and  raiders  appeared  upon  the  outskirts  of  the  mesquites. 
Then  Blanco  Sol  stopped.  His  shrill,  ringing  whistle 
came  distinctly  to  Gale's  ears.  The  raiders  were  mounted 
on  dark  horses,  and  they  stood  abreast  in  a  motionless 
line.  Gale  chuckled  as  he  appreciated  what  a  puzzle  the 
situation  presented  for  them.  A  lone  horseman  in  the 
middle  of  the  valley  did  not  perhaps  seem  so  menacing 
himself  as  the  possibilities  his  presence  suggested. 

Then  Gale  saw  a  raider  gallop  swiftly  from  the  group 
toward  the  farther  outlet  of  the  valley.  This  might  have 
been  owing  to  characteristic  cowardice ;  but  it  was  more 
likely  a  move  of  the  raiders  to  make  sure  of  retreat 
Undoubtedly  Ladd  saw  this  galloping  horseman.  A 
few  waiting  moments  ensued.  The  galloping  horseman 
reached  the  slope,  began  to  climb.  With  naked  eyes 
Gale  saw  a  puff  of  white  smoke  spring  out  of  the  rocks. 
Then  the  raider  wheeled  his  plunging  horse  back  to  the 
level,  and  went  racing  wildly  down  the  valley. 

The  compact  bunch  of  bays  and  blacks  seemed  to  break 
apart  and  spread  rapidly  from  the  edge  of  the  mesquites. 
Puffs  of  white  smoke  indicated  firing,  and  showed  the 
nature  of  the  raiders'  excitement.  They  were  far  out  of 
ordinary  range ;  but  they  spurred  toward  Ladd,  shooting 
as  they  rode.  Ladd  held  his  ground ;  the  big  white  horse 
stood  like  a  rock  in  his  tracks.  Gale  saw  little  spouts  of 
dust  rise  in  front  of  Blanco  Sol  and  spread  swift  as  sight 
to  his  rear.  The  raiders'  bullets,  striking  low,  were  skip 
ping  along  the  hard,  bare  floor  of  the  valley.  Then  Ladd 
raised  the  long  rifle.  There  was  no  smoke,  but  three 
high,  spanging  reports  rang  out.  A  gap  opened  in  the 
dark  line  of  advancing  horsemen ;  then  a  riderless  steed 
sheered  off  to  the  right.  Blanco  Sol  seemed  to  turn  as 
on  a  pivot  and  charged  back  toward  the  lower  end  of  the 
valley.  He  circled  over  to  Gale's  right  and  stretched  out 
into  his  run.  There  were  now  rive  raiders  in  pursuit, 
and  they  came  sweeping  down,  yelling  and  shooting^ 


DESERT   GOLD 

evidently  sure  of  their  quarry.  Ladd  reserved  his  fire. 
He  kept  turning  from  back  to  front  in  his  saddle. 

Gale  saw  how  the  space  widened  between  pursuers  and 
pursued,  saw  distinctly  when  Ladd  eased  up  Sol's  run 
ning.  Manifestly  Ladd  intended  to  try  to  lead  the  raiders 
round  in  front  of  Gale's  position,  and,  presently,  Gale  saw 
he  was  going  to  succeed.  The  raiders,  riding  like  va- 
queros,  swept  on  in  a  curve,  cutting  off  what  distance  they 
could.  One  fellow,  a  small,  wiry  rider,  high  on  his  mount's 
neck  like  a  jockey,  led  his  companions  by  many  yards. 
He  seemed  to  be  getting  the  range  of  Ladd,  or  else  he  shot 
high,  for  his  bullets  did  not  strike  up  the  dust  behind  Sol. 
Gale  was  ready  to  shoot.  Blanco  Sol  pounded  by,  his 
rapid,  rhythmic  hoofbeats  plainly  to  be  heard.  He  was 
running  easily. 

Gale  tried  to  still  the  jump  of  heart  and  pulse,  and 
turned  his  eye  again  on  the  nearest  pursuer.  This  raider 
was  crossing  in,  his  carbine  held  muzzle  up  in  his  right 
hand,  and  he  was  coming  swiftly.  It  was  a  long  shot* 
upward  of  five  hundred  yards.  Gale  had  not  time  to 
adjust  the  sights  of  the  Remington,  but  he  knew  the  gun 
and,  holding  coarsely  upon  the  swiftly  moving  blot,  he 
began  to  shoot.  The  first  bullet  sent  up  a  great  splash  of 
dust  beneath  the  horse's  nose,  making  him  leap  as  if  to 
hurdle  a  fence.  The  rifle  was  automatic;  Gale  needed 
only  to  pull  the  trigger.  He  saw  now  that  the  raiders  be 
hind  were  in  line.  Swiftly  he  worked  the  trigger.  Sud 
denly  the  leading  horse  leaped  convulsively,  not  up  nor 
aside,  but  straight  ahead,  and  then  he  crashed  to  the 
ground  throwing  his  rider  like  a  catapult,  and  then  slid 
and  rolled.  He  half  got  up,  fell  back,  and  kicked;  but 
his  rider  never  moved. 

The  other  rangers  sawed  the  reins  of  plunging  steeds 
and  whirled  to  escape  the  unseen  battery.  Gale  slipped 
a  fresh  clip  into  the  magazine  of  his  rifle.  He  restrained 
himself  from  useless  firing  and  gave  eager  eye  to  the  duel 
below.  Ladd  began  to  shoot  while  Sol  was  running. 

140 


RUNNING  OF  BLANCO  SOL 

The  .405  rang1  out  sharply — then  again.  The  heavy  bul 
lets  streaked  the  dust  all  the  way  across  the  valley.  Ladd 
aimed  deliberately  and  pulled  slowly,  unmindful  of  the 
kicking  dust-puffs  behind  Sol,  and  to  the  side.  The  raiders 
spurred  madly  in  pursuit,  loading  and  firing.  They  shot 
ten  times  while  Ladd  shot  once,  and  all  in  vain;  and  on 
Ladd's  sixth  shot  a  raider  toppled  backward,  threw  his 
carbine  and  fell  with  his  foot  catching  in  a  stirrup.  The 
frightened  horse  plunged  away,  dragging  him  in  a  path  of 
dust. 

Gale  had  set  himself  to  miss  nothing  of  that  fighting 
race,  yet  the  action  passed  too  swiftly  for  clear  sight  of 
all.  Ladd  had  emptied  a  magazine,  and  now  Blanco  Sol 
quickened  and  lengthened  his  running  stride.  He  ran 
away  from  his  pursuers.  Then  it  was  that  the  ranger's 
ruse  was  divined  by  the  raiders.  They  hauled  sharply 
up  and  seemed  to  be  conferring.  But  that  was  a  fatal 
mistake.  Blanco  Sol  was  seen  to  break  his  gait  and  slow 
down  in  several  jumps,  then  square  away  and  stand  stock- 
still.  Ladd  fired  at  the  closely  grouped  raiders.  An 
instant  passed.  Then  Gale  heard  the  spat  of  a  bullet 
out  in  front,  saw  a  puff  of  dust,  then  heard  the  lead 
Strike  the  rocks  and  go  whining  away.  And  it  was  after 
•this  that  one  of  the  raiders  fell  prone  from  his  saddle. 
The  steel- jacketed  .405  had  gone  through  him  on  its 
Uninterrupted  way  to  hum  past  Gale's  position. 

The  remaining  two  raiders  frantically  spurred  their 
horses  and  fled  up  the  valley.  Ladd  sent  Sol  after  them. 
It  seemed  to  Gale,  even  though  he  realized  his  excitement, 
that  Blanco  Sol  made  those  horses  seem  like  snails.  The 
raiders  split,  one  making  for  the  eastern  outlet,  the  other 
circling  back  of  the  mesquites.  Ladd  kept  on  after  the 
latter.  Then  puffs  of  white  smoke  and  rifle  shots  faintly 
crackling  told  of  Jim  Lash's  hand  in  the  game.  However, 
he  succeeded  only  in  driving  the  raider  back  into  the  val 
ley.  But  Ladd  had  turned  the  other  horseman,  and  now 
it  appeared  the  two  raiders  were  between  Lash  above  or 

141 


DESERT   GOLD 

the  stony  slope  and  Ladd  below  on  the  level.  There  was 
desperate  riding  on  part  of  the  raiders  to  keep  from  being 
hemmed  in  closer.  Only  one  of  them  got  away,  and  he 
came  riding  for  life  down  under  the  eastern  wall.  Blanco 
Sol  settled  into  his  graceful,  beautiful  swing.  He  gained 
steadily,  though  he  was  far  from  extending  himself.  By 
Gale's  actual  count  the  raider  fired  eight  times  in  that 
race  down  the  valley,  and  all  his  bullets  went  low  and 
wide.  He  pitched  the  carbine  away  and  lost  all  control 
in  headlong  flight. 

Some  few  hundred  rods  to  the  left  of  Gale  the  raider 
put  his  horse  to  the  weathered  slope.  He  began  to  climb. 
.The  horse  was  superb,  infinitely  more  courageous  than 
his  rider.  Zigzag  they  went  up  and  up,  and  when  Ladd 
reached  the  edge  of  the  slope  they  were  high  along  the 
cracked  and  guttered  rampart.  Once — twice  Ladd  raised 
the  long  rifle,  but  each  time  he  lowered  it.  Gale  divined 
that  the  ranger's  restraint  was  not  on  account  of  the 
Mexican,  but  for  that  valiant  and  faithful  horse.  Up 
and  up  he  went,  and  the  yellow  dust  clouds  rose,  and  an 
avalanche  rolled  rattling  and  cracking  down  the  slope. 
It  was  beyond  belief  that  a  horse,  burdened  or  unburdened, 
could  find  footing  and  hold  it  upon  that  wall  of  narrow 
ledges  and  inverted,  slanting  gullies.  But  he  climbed  on, 
sure-footed  as  a  mountain  goat,  and,  surmounting  the  last 
rough  steps,  he  stood  a  moment  silhouetted  against  the 
white  sky.  Then  he  disappeared.  Ladd  sat  astride 
Blanco  Sol  gazing  upward.  How  the  cowboy  must  have 
honored  that  raider's  brave  steed! 

Gale,  who  had  been  too  dumb  to  shout  the  admiration 
he  felt,  suddenly  leaped  up,  and  his  voice  came  with  a 
shriek : 

"LOOK  OUT,  LADDY!" 

A  big  horse,  like  a  white  streak,  was  bearing  down  to 
the  right  of  the  ranger.  Blanco  Diablo !  A  matchless 
rider  swung  with  the  horse's  motion.  Gale  was  stunned. 
Then  he  remembered  the  first  raider,  the  one  Lash  ha4 

142 


RUNNING  OF  BLANCO  SOL 

shot  at  and  driven  away  from  the  outlet.  This  fellow 
had  made  for  the  mesquite  and  had  put  a  saddle  on  Beld- 
ing's  favorite.  In  the  heat  of  the  excitement,  while 
Ladd  had  been  intent  upon  the  climbing  horse,  this  last 
raider  had  come  down  with  the  speed  of  the  wind 
straight  for  the  western  outlet.  Perhaps,  very  probably, 
he  did  not  know  Gale  was  there  to  block  it ;  and  certainly 
he  hoped  to  pass  Ladd  and  Blanco  Sol. 

A  touch  of  the  spur  made  Sol  lunge  forward  to  head 
off  the  raider.  Diablo  was  in  his  stride,  but  the  distance 
and  angle  favored  Sol.  The  raider  had  no  carbine.  He 
held  aloft  a  gun  ready  to  level  it  and  fire.  He  sat  the 
saddle  as  if  it  were  a  stationary  seat.  Gale  saw  Ladd 
lean  down  and  drop  the  405  in  the  sand.  He  would  take 
no  chances  of  wounding  Belding's  best-loved  horse. 

Then  Gale  sat  transfixed  with  suspended  breath  watch 
ing  the  horses  thundering  toward  him.  Blanco  Diablc 
was  speeding  low,  fleet  as  an  antelope,  fierce  and  terrible 
in  his  devilish  action,  a  horse  for  war  and  blood  and 
death.  He  seemed  unbeatable.  Yet  to  see  the  magnifi 
cently  running  Blanco  Sol  was  but  to  court  a  doubt.  Gale 
stood  spellbound.  He  might  have  shot  the  raider;  but 
he  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  The  distance  swiftly 
lessened.  Plain  it  was  the  raider  could  not  make  the 
opening  ahead  of  Ladd.  He  saw  it  and  swerved  to  the 
left,  emptying  his  six-shooter  as  he  turned.  His  dark 
face  gleamed  as  he  flashed  by  Gale. 

Blanco  Sol  thundered  across.  Then  the  race  became 
straight  away  up  the  valley.  Diablo  was  cold  and  Sol 
was  hot :  therein  lay  the  only  handicap  and  vantage.  It 
was  a  fleet,  beautiful,  magnificent  race.  Gale  thrilled 
and  exulted  and  yelled  as  his  horse  settled  into  a  steadily 
swifter  run  and  began  to  gain.  The  dust  rolled  in  a 
funnel-shaped  cloud  from  the  flying  hoofs.  The  raider 
wheeled  with  gun  puffing  white,  and  Ladd  ducked  low 
over  the  neck  of  his  horse. 

The  gap  between  Diablo  and  Sol  narrowed  yard  by 

143 


DESERT   GOLD 

yard.  At  first  it  had  been  a  wide  one.  The  raider  beat 
his  mount  and  spurred,  beat  and  spurred,  wheeled  round 
to  shoot,  then  bent  forward  again.  In  his  circle  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  valley  he  turned  far  short  of  the  jumble 
of  rocks. 

All  the  devil  that  was  in  Blanco  Diablo  had  its  running 
on  the  downward  stretch.  The  strange,  cruel  urge  of 
bit  and  spur,  the  crazed  rider  who  stuck  like  a  burr  upon 
him,  the  shots  and  smoke  added  terror  to  his  natural 
violent  temper.  He  ran  himself  off  his  feet.  But  he 
could  not  elude  that  relentless  horse  behind  him.  The 
running  of  Blanco  Sol  was  that  of  a  sure,  remorseless 
driving  power — steadier — stronger — swifter  with  every 
Jong  and  wonderful  stride. 

The  raider  tried  to  sheer  Diablo  off  closer  under  the 
wall,  to  make  the  slope  where  his  companion  had  escaped. 
But  Diablo  was  uncontrollable.  He  was  running  wild, 
with  breaking  gait.  Closer  and  closer  crept  that  white, 
smoothly  gliding,  beautiful  machine  of  speed. 

Then,  like  one  white  flash  following  another,  the  two 
horses  gleamed  down  the  bank  of  a  wash  and  disappeared 
in  clouds  of  dust. 

Gale  watched  with  strained  and  smarting  eyes.  The 
thick  throb  in  his  ears  was  pierced  by  faint  sounds  of  gun 
shots.  Then  he  waited  in  almost  unendurable  suspense. 

Suddenly  something  whiter  than  the  background  of 
dust  appeared  above  the  low  roll  of  valley  floor.  Gale 
leveled  his  glass.  In  the  clear  circle  shone  Blanco  Sol's 
noble  head  with  its  long  black  bar  from  ears  to  nose. 
Sol's  head  was  drooping  now.  Another  second  showed 
Ladd  still  in  the  saddle. 

The  ranger  was  leading  Blanco  Diablo — spent — broker* 
— dragging — r  iderlesSo 


IX 

AN  INTERRUPTED  SIESTA 

NO  man  ever  had  a  more  eloquent  and  beautiful  plead 
er  for  his  cause  than  had  Dick  Gale  in  Mercedes 
Castaiieda.  He  peeped  through  the  green,  shining  twigs 
of  the  palo  verde  that  shaded  his  door.  The  hour  was 
high  noon,  and  the  patio  was  sultry.  The  only  sounds 
were  the  hum  of  bees  in  the  flowers  and  the  low  murmur 
of  the  Spanish  girl's  melodious  voice.  Nell  lay  in  the 
hammock,  her  hands  behind  her  head,  with  rosy  cheeks 
and  arch  eyes.  Indeed  she  looked  rebellious.  Certain 
it  was,  Dick  reflected,  that  the  young  lady  had  fully 
recovered  the  wilful  personality  which  had  lain  dormant 
for  a  while.  Equally  certain  it  seemed  that  Mercedes's 
earnestness  was  not  apparently  having  the  effect  it  should 
have  had. 

Dick  was  inclined  to  be  rebellious  himself.  Belding  had 
kept  the  rangers  in  off  the  line,  and  therefore  Dick  had 
been  idle  most  of  the  time,  and,  though  he  tried  hard,  he 
had  been  unable  to  stay  far  from  Nell's  vicinity.  He  be= 
lieved  she  cared  for  him ;  but  he  could  not  catch  her  alone 
Jong  enough  to  verify  his  tormenting  hope.  When  alone 
she  was  as  illusive  as  a  shadow,  as  quick  as  a  flash,  as 
mysterious  as  a  Yaqui.  When  he  tried  to  catch  her  in 
the  garden  or  fields,  or  corner  her  in  the  patio,  she  eluded 
him,  and  left  behind  a  memory  of  dark-blue,  haunting 
eyes.  It  was  that  look  in  her  eyes  which  lent  him  hope. 
At  other  times,  when  it  might  have  been  possible  for 
Dick  to  speak,  Nell  clung  closely  to  Mercedes.  He  had 
long  before  enlisted  the  loyal  Mercedes  in  his  cause ;  but 

145 


DESERT   GOLD 

in  spite  of  this  Nell  had  been  more  than  a  match  for 
them  both. 

Gale  pondered  over  an  idea  he  had  long  revolved  in 
mind,  and  which  now  suddenly  gave  place  to  a  decision 
that  made  his  heart  swell  and  his  cheek  burn.  He  peeped 
again  through  the  green  branches  to  see  Nell  laughing 
at  the  fiery  Mercedes. 

"Quien  sabe,"  he  called,  mockingly,  and  was  delighted 
with  Nell's  quick,  amazed  start. 

Then  he  went  in  search  of  Mrs.  Belding,  and  found 
her  busy  in  the  kitchen. 

The  relation  between  Gale  and  Mrs.  Belding  had  subtly 
and  incomprehensively  changed.  He  understood  her  less 
than  when  at  first  he  divined  an  antagonism  in  her.  If 
such  a  thing  were  possible  she  had  retained  the  antagon 
ism  while  seeming  to  yield  to  some  influence  that  must 
have  been  fondness  for  him.  Gale  was  in  no  wise  sure 
of  her  affection,  and  he  had  long  imagined  she  was  afraid 
of  him,  or  of  something  that  he  represented.  He  had  gone 
on,  openly  and  fairly,  though  discreetly,  with  his  rather 
one-sided  love  affair;  and  as  time  passed  he  had  grown 
less  conscious  of  what  had  seemed  her  unspoken  opposi 
tion.  Gale  had  come  to  care  greatly  for  Nell's  mother. 
Not  only  was  she  the  comfort  and  strength  of  her  home, 
but  also  of  the  inhabitants  of  Forlorn  River.  Indian,  Mex 
ican,  American  were  all  the  same  to  her  in  trouble  or 
illness;  and  then  she  was  nurse,  doctor,  peacemaker, 
helper.  She  was  good  and  noble,  and  there  was  not  a 
child  or  grownup  in  Forlorn  River  who  did  not  love  and 
bless  her.  But  Mrs.  Belding  did  not  seem  happy.  She  "was 
brooding,  intense,  deep,  strong,  eager  for  the  happiness 
and  welfare  of  others;  and  she  was  dominated  by  a  wor 
ship  of  her  daughter  that  was  as  strange  as  it  was  pa 
thetic.  Mrs.  Belding  seldom  smiled,  and  never  laughed. 
There  was  always  a  soft,  sad,  hurt  look  in  her  eyes.  Gale 
often  wondered  if  there  had  been  other  tragedy  in  hes 
Uife  than  the  supposed  loss  of  her  father  in  the  desert 

146 


AN  INTERRUPTED   SIESTA 

Perhaps  it  was  the  very  unsolved  nature  of  that  loss 
which  made  it  haunting. 

Mrs.  Belding  heard  Dick's  step  as  he  entered  the 
kitchen,  and,  looking  up,  greeted  him. 

"Mother,"  began  Dick,  earnestly.  Belding  called  her 
that,  and  so  did  Ladd  and  Lash,  but  it  was  the  first  time 
for  Dick.  "Mother — I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

The  only  indication  Mrs.  Belding  gave  of  being  startled 
was  in  her  eyes,  which  darkened,  shadowed  with  multi 
plying  thought. 

"I  love  Nell,"  went  on  Dick,  simply,  "and  I  want  you 
to  let  me  ask  her  to  be  my  wife." 

Mrs.  Belding's  face  blanched  to  a  deathly  white.  Gale, 
thinking  with  surprise  and  concern  that  she  was  going 
to  faint,  moved  quickly  toward  her,  took  her  arm. 

"Forgive  me.  I  was  blunt.  .  .  .  But  I  thought  you 
knew." 

"I've  known  for  a  long  time,"  replied  Mrs.  Belding. 
Her  voice  was  steady,  and  there  was  no  evidence  of 
agitation  except  in  her  pallor.  "Then  you — you  haven't 
spoken  to  Nell?" 

Dick  laughed.  "I've  been  trying  to  get  a  chance  to 
tell  her.  I  haven't  had  it  yet.  But  she  knows.  There  are 
other  ways  besides  speech.  And  Mercedes  has  told  her. 
I  hope,  I  almost  believe  Nell  cares  a  little  for  me." 

"I've  known  that,  too,  for  a  long  time,"  said  Mrs» 
Belding,  low  almost  as  a  whisper. 

"You  knowJ"  cried  Dick,  with  a  glow  and  rush  of 
feeling. 

"Dick,  you  must  be  very  blind  not  to  see  what  has 
been  plain  to  all  of  us.  ...  I  guess — it  couldn't  have 
been  helped.  You're  a  splendid  fellow.  No  wonder  she 
loves  you." 

"Mother!  You'll  give  her  to  me?" 

She  drew  him  to  the  light  and  looked  with  strange, 
piercing  intentness  into  his  face.  Gale  had  never  dreamed 
a  woman's  eyes  could  hold  such  a  world  of  thought  and 

147 


DESERT  GOLD 

feeling.     It  seemed  all  the  sweetness  of  life  was  there* 
and  all  the  pain. 

"Do  you  love  her  ?"  she  asked 

"With  all  my  heart." 

"You  want  to  marry  her?" 

"Ah,  I  want  to !  As  much  as  I  want  to  live  and  work 
ror  her," 

"When  would  you  marry  her?" 

"Why !  .  .  .  Just  as  soon  as  she  will  do  it  To-mor 
row  !"  Dick  gave  a  wild,  exultant  little  laugh. 

"Dick  Gale,  you  want  my  Nell  ?  You  love  her  just  as 
she  is — her  sweetness — her  goodness  ?  Just  herself,  body 
and  soul?  .  .  .  There's  nothing  could  change  you — 
nothing?" 

"Dear  Mrs.  Belding,  I  love  Nell  for  herself.  If  she 
bves  cue  I'll  be  the  happiest  of  men.  There's  absolutely 
nothing  that  could  make  any  difference  in  me." 

"But  your  people?  Oh,  Dick,  you  come  of  a  proud 
family.  I  can  tell.  I — I  once  knew  a  young  man  like 
you.  A  few  months  can't  change  pride — blood.  Years 
can't  change  them.  You've  become  a  ranger.  You  love 
the  adventure — the  wild  life.  That  won't  last.  Perhaps 
you'll  settle  down  to  ranching.  I  know  you  love  the 
West.  But,  Dick,  there's  your  family — " 

"If  you  want  to  know  anything  about  my  family,  I'll 
tell  you,"  interrupted  Dick,  with  strong  feeling.  "I've 
no  secrets  about  them  or  myself.  My  future  and  happi 
ness  are  Nell's  to  make.  No  one  else  shall  count  with 
me." 

"Then,  Dick — you  may  have  her.  God — bless — you 
—both." 

Mrs.  Belding's  strained  face  underwent  a  swift  and 
mobile  relaxation,  and  suddenly  she  was  weeping  in 
strangely  mingled  happiness  and  bitterness. 

"Why,  mother!"  Gale  could  say  no  more.  He  die 
not  comprehend  a  mood  seemingly  so  utterly  at  variance 
with  Mrs.  Belding's  habitual  temperament.  But  he  ptf 

148 


AN  INTERRUPTED   SIESTA 

his  arm  around  her.  In  another  moment  she  had  gained 
command  over  herself,  and,  kissing  him,  she  pushed  him 
out  of  the  door. 

"There !  Go  tell  her,  Dick.  .  .  .  And  have  some  spunk 
about  it!" 

Gale  went  thoughtfully  back  to  his  room.  He  vowed 
that  he  would  answer  for  Nell's  happiness,  if  he  had  the 
wonderful  good  fortune  to  win  her.  Then  remembering 
the  hope  Mrs.  Belding  had  given  him,  Dick  lost  his 
gravity  in  a  flash,  and  something  began  to  dance  and  ring 
within  him.  He  simply  could  not  keep  his  steps  turned 
from  the  patio.  Every  path  led  there.  His  blood  was 
throbbing,  his  hopes  mounting,  his  spirit  soaring.  He 
knew  he  had  never  before  entered  the  patio  with  that 
inspirited  presence. 

"Now  for  some  spunk !"  he  said,  under  his  breath. 

Plainly  he  meant  his  merry  whistle  and  his  buoyant 
step  to  interrupt  this  first  languorous  stage  of  the  siesta 
which  the  girls  always  took  during  the  hot  hours.  Nell 
had  acquired  the  habit  long  before  Mercedes  came  to 
show  how  fixed  a  thing  it  was  in  the  life  of  the  tropics. 
But  neither  girl  heard  him.  Mercedes  lay  under  the 
palo  verde,  her  beautiful  head  dark  and  still  upon  a 
cushion.  Nell  was  asleep  in  the  hammock.  There  was 
an  abandonment  in  her  deep  repose,  and  a  faint  smile 
upon  her  face.  Her  sweet,  red  lips,  with  the  soft,  per 
fect  curve,  had  always  fascinated  Dick,  and  now  drew 
him  irresistibly.  He  had  always  been  consumed  with  a 
desire  to  kiss  her,  and  now  he  was  overwhelmed  with  his 
opportunity.  It  would  be  a  terrible  thing  to  do,  but 
if  she  did  not  awaken  at  once —  No,  he  would  fight 
the  temptation.  That  would  be  more  than  spunk.  It 
would —  Suddenly  an  ugly  green  fly  sailed  low  over 
Nell,  appeared  about  to  alight  on  her.  Noiselessly  Dick 
stepped  close  to  the  hammock  bent  under  the  tree,  and 
with  a  sweep  of  his  hand  chased  the  intruding  fly  away. 
But  he  found  himself  powerless  to  straighten  up.  He 

149 


DESERT   GOLD 

was  close  to  her — bending  over  her  face — near  the  sweet 
lips.  The  insolent,  dreaming  smile  just  parted  them. 
Then  he  thought  he  was  lost.  But  she  stirred — he  feared 
she  would  awaken. 

He  had  stepped  back  erect  wrhen  she  opened  her  eyes. 
They  were  sleepy,  yet  surprised  until  she  saw  him.  Then 
she  was  wide  awake  in  a  second,  bewildered,  uncertain, 

"Why — you  here?"  she  asked,  slowly. 

"Large  as  life !"  replied  Dick,  with  unusual  gayety. 

"How  long  have  you  been  here?" 

"Just  got  here  this  fraction  of  a  second,"  he  replied, 
lying  shamelessly. 

It  was  evident  that  she  did  not  know  whether  or  not 
to  believe  him,  and  as  she  studied  him  a  slow  blush  dyed 
tier  cheek. 

"You  are  absolutely  truthful  when  you  say  you  just 
stepped  there?" 

"Why.  of  course,"  answered  Dick,  right  glad  he  did  not 
Jiave  to  lie  about  that. 

"I  thought — I  was — dreaming,"  she  said,  and  evidently 
iie  sound  of  her  voice  reassured  her. 

"Yes,  you  looked  as  if  you  were  having  pleasant 
dreams,"  replied  Dick.  "So  sorry  to  wake  you.  I  can't 
see  how  I  came  to  do  it,  I  was  so  quiet.  Mercedes  didn't 
wake.  Well,  I'll  go  and  let  you  have  your  siesta  and 
dreams." 

But  he  did  not  move  to  go.  Nell  regarded  him  with 
curious,  speculative  eyes. 

"Isn't  it  a  lovely  day?"  queried  Dick. 

"I  think  it's  hot." 

"Only  ninety  in  the  shade.  And  you've  told  me  the 
mercury  goes  to  one  hundred  and  thirty  in  midsummer. 
This  is  just  a  glorious  golden  day." 

"Yesterday  was  finer,  but  you  didn't  notice  it." 

5<Oh,  yesterday  was  somewhere  back  in  the  past — the 
^consequential  past." 

Nel!'s  sieepy  blue  eyes  opened  a  little  wider*   She  did 

ISO 


AN  INTERRUPTED  SIESTA 

not  know  what  to  make  of  this  changed  young  man. 
Dick  felt  gleeful  and  tried  hard  to  keep  the  fact  from 
becoming  manifest. 

"What's  the  inconsequential  past?  You  seem  remark- 
Ably  happy  to-day." 

"I  certainly  am  happy.    Adios.    Pleasant  dreams." 

Dick  turned  away  then  and  left  the  patio  by  the  open 
ing  into  the  yard.  Nell  was  really  sleepy,  and  when  she 
had  fallen  asleep  again  he  would  return.  He  walked 
around  for  a  while.  Belding  and  the  rangers  were  shoe 
ing  a  broncho.  Yaqui  was  in  the  field  with  the  horses. 
Blanco  Sol  grazed  contentedly,  and  now  and  then  lifted 
his  head  to  watch.  His  long  ears  went  up  at  sight  of  his 
master,  and  he  whistled.  Presently  Dick,  as  if  magnet- 
drawn,  retraced  his  steps  to  the  patio  and  entered  noise 
lessly. 

Nell  was  now  deep  in  her  siesta.  She  was  inert,  re 
laxed,  untroubled  by  dreams.  Her  hair  was  damp  on 
her  brow. 

Again  Nell  stirred,  and  gradually  awakened.  Her  eyes 
unclosed,  humid,  shadowy,  unconscious.  They  rested 
upon  Dick  for  a  moment  before  they  became  clear  and 
comprehensive.  He  stood  back  fully  ten  feet  from  her, 
and  to  all  outside  appearances  regarded  her  calmly. 

"I've  interrupted  your  siesta  again,"  he  said.  "Please 
forgive  me.  I'll  take  myself  off." 

He  wandered  away,  and  when  it  became  impossible  for 
him  to  stay  away  any  longer  he  returned  to  the  patio. 

The  instant  his  glance  rested  upon  Nell's  face  he  di 
vined  she  was  feigning  sleep.  The  faint  rose-blush  had 
paled.  The  warm,  rich,  golden  tint  of  her  skin  had  fled. 
Dick  dropped  upon  his  knees  and  bent  over  her.  Though 
his  blood  was  churning  in  his  veins,  his  breast  laboring, 
his  mind  whirling  with  the  wonder  of  that  moment  and 
its  promise,  he  made  himself  deliberate.  He  wanted  more 
than  anything  he  had  ever  wanted  in  his  life  to  see  if  she 
would  keep  up  that  pretense  of  sleep  and  let  him  kiss  her. 
She  must  have  felt  his  breath,  for  her  hair  waved  off  her 


DESERT   GOLD 

brow.  Her  cheeks  were  now  white.  Her  breast  swelled 
and  sank.  He  bent  down  closer — closer.  But  he  must 
have  been  maddeningly  slow,  for  as  he  bent  still  closer 
Nell's  eyes  opened,  and  he  caught  a  swift  purple  gaze  of 
eyes  as  she  whirled  her  head.  Then,  with  a  little  cry, 
she  rose  and  fled. 


ROJAS 

NO  word  from  George  Thome  had  come  to  Forlorn 
River  in  weeks.  Gale  grew  concerned  over  the  fact, 
and  began  to  wonder  if  anything  serious  could  have 
happened  to  him.  Mercedes  showed  a  slow,  wearing 
strain. 

Thome's  commission  expired  the  end  of  January,  and 
if  he  could  not  get  his  discharge  immediately,  he  surely 
could  obtain  leave  of  absence.  Therefore,  Gale  waited, 
not  without  growing  anxiety,  and  did  his  best  to  cheer 
Mercedes.  The  first  of  February  came  bringing  news  of 
rebel  activities  and  bandit  operations  in  and  around 
Casita,  but  not  a  word  from  the  cavalryman. 

Mercedes  became  silent,  mournful.  Her  eyes  were 
great  black  windows  of  tragedy.  Nell  devoted  herself 
entirely  to  the  unfortunate  girl;  Dick  exerted  himself  to 
persuade  her  that  all  would  yet  come  well;  in  fact,  the 
whole  household  could  not  have  been  kinder  to  a  sister 
or  a  daughter.  But  their  united  efforts  were  unavailing. 
Mercedes  seemed  to  accept  with  fatalistic  hopelessness 
a  last  and  crowning  misfortune. 

A  dozen  times  Gale  declared  he  would  ride  in  to  Casita 
and  find  out  why  they  did  not  hear  from  Thorne ;  how 
ever,  older  and  wiser  heads  prevailed  over  his  impetuosity. 
Belding  was  not  sanguine  over  the  safety  of  the  Casita 
trail.  Refugees  from  there  arrived  every  day  in  Forlorn 
River,  and  if  the  tales  they  told  were  true,  real  war  would 
have  been  preferable  to  what  was  going  on  along  the 
border.  Belding  and  the  ranee rs  and  the  Yaqui  held  a 


DESERT   GOLD 

tonsultation.  Not  only  had  the  Indian  become  a  faith 
ful  servant  to  Gale,  but  he  was  also  of  value  to  Belding. 
Yaqui  had  all  the  craft  of  his  class,  and  superior  intelli 
gence.  His  knowledge  of  Mexicans  was  second  only  to 
his  hate  of  them.  And  Yaqui,  who  had  been  scouting  on 
all  the  trails,  gave  information  that  made  Belding  decide 
to  wait  some  days  before  sending  any  one  to  Casita.  He 
required  promises  from  his  rangers,  particularly  Gale, 
not  to  leave  without  his  consent. 

It  was  upon  Gale's  coming  from  this  conference  that  he 
encountered  Nell.  Since  the  interrupted  siesta  episode 
she  had  been  more  than  ordinarily  elusive,  and  about  all 
he  had  received  from  her  was  a  tantalizing  smile  from  a 
distance.  He  got  the  impression  now,  however,  that  she 
had  awaited  him.  When  he  drew  close  to  her  he  was 
certain  of  it,  and  he  experienced  more  than  surprise. 

"Dick,"  she  began,  hurriedly.  "Dad's  not  going  to 
send  any  one  to  see  about  Thorne?" 

"No,  not  yet.  He  thinks  it  best  not  to.  We  all  think 
so.  I'm  sorry.  Pool  Mercedes!" 

"I  knew  it.  I  tried  to  coax  him  to  send  Laddy  or  even 
Yaqui.  He  wouldn't  listen  to  me.  Dick,  Mercedes  is 
dying  by  inches.  Can't  you  see  what  ails  her?  It's  more 
than  love  or  fear.  It's  uncertainty — suspense.  Oh,  can't 
we  find  out  for  her?" 

"Nell,  I  feel  as  badly  as  you  about  her.  I  wanted  to 
ride  in  to  Casita.  Belding  shut  me  up  quick,  the  last 
time." 

Nell  came  close  to  Gale,  clasped  his  arm.  There  was 
no  color  in  her  face.  Her  eyes  held  a  dark,  eager  excite 
ment. 

"Dick,  will  you  slip  off  without  Dad's  consent?  Risk 
it !  Go  to  Casita  and  find  out  what's  happened  to  Thorne 
— at  least  if  he  ever  started  for  Forlorn  River?" 

"No,  Nell,  I  won't  do  that." 

She  drew  away  from  him  with  passionate  suddenness 

"Are  you  afraid?" 

154 


ROJAS 

This  certainly  was  not  the  Nell  Burton  that  Gale 
knew. 

"No,  I'm  not  afraid,"  Gale  replied,  a  little  nettled. 

"Will  you  go — for  my  sake  ?"  Like  lightning  her  mood 
changed  and  she  was  close  to  him  again,  hands  on  his, 
her  face  white,  her  whole  presence  sweetly  alluring. 

"Nell,  I  won't  disobey  Belding,"  protested  Gale.  "I 
won't  break  my  word." 

"Dick,  it  '11  not  be  so  bad  as  that  But—what  if  it 
is?...  Go,  Dick,  if  not  for  poor  Mercedes's  sake,  then 
for  mine — to  please  me.  I'll — I'll you  won't  lose  any 
thing  by  going.  I  think  I  know  how  Mercedes  feels. 
Just  a  word  from  Thorne  or  about  him  would  save  her. 
Take  Blanco  Sol  and  go,  Dick.  What  rebel  outfit  could 
ever  ride  you  down  on  that  horse?  Why,  Dick,  if  I  was 
up  on  Sol  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  of  the  whole  rebel  army." 

"My  dear  girl,  it's  not  a  question  of  being  afraid.  It's 
my  word — my  duty  to  Belding." 

"You  said  you  loved  me.  If  you  do  love  me  you  will 
go You  don't  love  me !" 

Gale  could  only  stare  at  this  transformed  girl. 

"Dick,  listen!...  If  you  go — if  you  fetch  some  word 
of  Thorne  to  comfort  Mercedes,  you — well,  you  will  have 
your  reward." 

"Nell!" 

Her  dangerous  sweetness  was  as  amazing  as  this  newly 
revealed  character. 

"Dick,  will  you  go?" 

"No — no !"  cried  Gale,  in  violence,  struggling  with  him 
self.  "Nell  Burton,  I'll  teli  you  this.  To  have  the 
reward  I  want  would  mean  pretty  near  heaven  for  me. 
But  not  even  for  that  will  I  break  my  word  to  your 
father." 

She  seemed  the  incarnation  of  girlish  scorn  and  willful 
passion. 

"Gracias,  sefior,"  she  replied,  mockingly.  "Adios"1 
Then  she  flashed  out  of  his  sight. 

155 


DESERT  GOLD 

Gale  went  to  his  room  at  once,  disturbed  and  thrilling, 
and  did  not  soon  recover  from  that  encounter. 

The  following  morning  at  the  breakfast  table  Nell  was 
not  present.  Mrs.  Belding  evidently  considered  the  fact 
somewhat  unusual,  for  she  called  out  into  the  patio  and 
then  into  the  yard.  Then  she  went  to  Mercedes's  room. 
But  Nell  was  not  there,  either. 

"She's  in  one  of  her  tantrums  lately,"  said  Belding. 
"Wouldn't  speak  to  me  this  morning.  Let  her  alone, 
mother.  She's  spoiled  enough,  without  running  after 
her.  She's  always  hungry.  She'll  be  on  hand  present 
ly,  don't  mistake  me." 

Notwithstanding  Belding's  conviction,  which  Gale 
shared,  Nell  did  not  appear  at  all  during  the  hour.  When 
Belding  and  the  rangers  went  outside,  Yaqui  was  eating 
his  meal  on  the  bench  where  he  always  sat. 

"Yaqui — Lluvia  d'  oro,  si?"  asked  Belding,  waving  his 
hand  toward  the  corrals.  The  Indian's  beautiful  name 
for  Nell  meant  "shower  of  gold,"  and  Belding  used  it 
in  asking  Yaqui  if  he  had  seen  her.  He  received  a  nega 
tive  reply. 

Perhaps  half  an  hour  afterward,  as  Gale  was  leaving 
his  room,  he  saw  the  Yaqui  running  up  the  path  from 
the  fields.  It  was  markedly  out  of  the  ordinary  to  see 
the  Indian  run.  Gale  wondered  what  was  the  matter. 
Yaqui  ran  straight  to  Belding,  who  was  at  work  at  his 
bench  under  the  wagon  shed.  In  less  than  a  moment 
Belding  was  bellowing  for  his  rangers.  Gale  got  to  him 
first,  but  Ladd  and  Lash  were  not  far  behind. 

"Blanco  Sol  gone !"  yelled  Belding,  in  a  rage. 

"Gone?  In  broad  daylight,  with  the  Indian  a-watch- 
in'?"  queried  Ladd. 

"It  happened  while  Yaqui  was  at  breakfast.  That's 
sure.  He'd  just  watered  Sol." 

"Raiders !"  exclaimed  Jim  Lash. 

"Lord  only  knows.    Yaqui  says  it  wasn't  raiders."* 

"Mebbe  Sol's  just  walked  off  somewheres." 


ROJAS 

"He  was  haltered  in  the  corral." 

"Send  Yaqui  to  find  the  boss's  trail,  an*  let's  figger," 
said  Ladd.  "Shore  this  's  no  raider  job." 

In  the  swift  search  that  ensued  Gale  did  not  have 
anything  to  say;  but  his  mind  was  forming  a  conclusion. 
When  he  found  his  old  saddle  and  bridle  missing  from 
the  peg  in  the  barn  his  conclusion  became  a  positive  con 
viction,  and  it  made  him,  for  the  moment,  cold  and  sick 
and  speechless. 

"Hey,  Dick,  don't  take  it  so  much  to  heart,"  said 
Belding.  "We'll  likely  find  Sol,  and  if  we  don't,  there's 
other  good  horses." 

"I'm  not  thinking  of  Sol,"  replied  Gale. 

Ladd  cast  a  sharp  glance  at  Gale,  snapped  his  fingers, 
and  said: 

"Damn  me  if  I  ain't  guessed  it,  too !" 

"What's  wrong  with  you  locoed  gents?"  bluntly  de 
manded  Belding. 

"Nell  has  slipped  away  on  Sol,"  answered  Dick. 

There  was  a  blank  pause,  which  presently  Belding 
broke. 

"Well,  that's  all  right,  if  Nell's  on  him.  I  was  afraid 
we'd  lost  the  horse." 

"Belding,  you're  trackin'  bad,"  said  Ladd,  wagging 
his  head. 

"Nell  has  started  for  Casita,"  burst  out  Gale.  "She 
has  gone  to  fetch  Mercedes  some  word  about  Thorne. 
Oh,  Belding,  you  needn't  shake  your  head.  I  know  she's 
gone.  She  tried  to  persuade  me  to  go,  and  was  furious 
when  I  wouldn't." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  replied  Belding,  hoarsely.  "Nell 
may  have  her  temper.  She's  a  little  devil  at  times,  but 
she  always  had  good  sense." 

"Tom,  you  can  gamble  she's  gone,"  said  Ladd. 

"Aw,  hell,  no!  Jim,  what  do  you  think?"  implored 
Belding. 

"I  reckon  Sol's  white  head  is  pointed  level  an'  straight 


DESERT   GOLD 

down  the  Casita  trail.    An'  Nell  can  ride.    We're  losin* 
time." 

That  roused  Belding  to  action. 

"I  say  you're  all  wrong,"  he  yelled,  starting  for  the 
corrals.  "She's  only  taking  a  little  ride,  same  as  she's 
done  often.  But  rustle  now.  Find  out.  Dick,  you  ride 
cross  the  valley.  Jim,  you  hunt  up  and  down  the  river. 
I'll  head  up  San  Felipe  way.  And  you,  Laddy,  take  Diablo 
and  hit  the  Casita  trail.  If  she  really  has  gone  after 
Thorne  you  can  catch  her  in  an  hour  or  so." 

"Shore  I'll  go,"  replied  Ladd.  "But,  Beldin',  if  you're 
not  plumb  crazy  you're  close  to  it.  That  big  white  devil 
can't  catch  Sol.  Not  in  an  hour  or  a  day  or  a  week! 
What's  more,  at  the  end  of  any  runnin'  time,  with  an 
even  start,  Sol  will  be  farther  in  the  lead.  An'  now  Sol's 
got  an  hour's  start." 

9  "Laddy,  you  mean  to  say  Sol  is  a  faster  horse  than 
Diablo  ?"  thundered  Belding,  his  face  purple. 

"Shore.  I  mean  to  tell  you  just  that  there,"  replied 
the  ranger. 

"I'll— I'll  bet  a—" 

"We're  wastin'  time,"  curtly  interrupted  Ladd.  "You 
can  gamble  on  this  if  you  want  to.  I'll  ride  your  Blanco 
"Devil  as  he  never  was  rid  before,  'cept  once  when  a  damn 
sight  better  hossman  than  I  am  couldn't  make  him  out 
run  Sol." 

Without  more  words  the  men  saddled  and  were  off,  not 
waiting  for  the  Yaqui  to  come  in  with  possible  informa 
tion  as  to  what  trail  Blanco  Sol  had  taken.  It  certainly 
did  not  show  in  the  clear  sand  of  the  level  valley  where 
Gale  rode  to  and  fro.  When  Gale  returned  to  the  house 
he  found  Belding  and  Lash  awaiting  him.  They  did  not 
mention  their  own  search,  but  stated  that  Yaqui  had 
found  Blanco  Sol's  tracks  in  the  Casita  trail.  After  some 
consultation  Belding  decided  to  send  Lash  along  after 
Ladd. 

The   interminable   time   that   followed   contained   for 

158 


ROJAS 

Gale  about  as  much  suspense  as  he  could  well  bear. 
What  astonished  him  and  helped  him  greatly  to  fight  off 
actual  distress  was  the  endurance  of  Nell's  mother. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  second  day,  Gale,  who  had 
acquired  an  unbreakable  habit  of  watching,  saw  three 
white  horses  and  a  bay  come  wearily  stepping  down  the 
road.  He  heard  Blanco  Sol's  familiar  whistle,  and  he 
leaped  up  wild  with  joy.  The  horse  was  riderless.  Gale's 
sudden  joy  received  a  violent  check,  then  resurged  when 
he  saw  a  limp  white  form  in  Jim  Lash's  arms.  Ladd  was 
supporting  a  horseman  who  wore  a  military  uniform. 

Gale  shouted  with  joy  and  ran  into  the  house  to  tell 
the  good  news.  It  was  the  ever-thoughtful  Mrs.  Beld- 
ing  who  prevented  him  from  rushing  in  to  tell  Mercedes. 
Then  he  hurried  out  into  the  yard,  closely  followed  by 
the  Beldings. 

Lash  handed  down  a  ragged,  travel-stained,  wan  girl 
into  Belding's  arms. 

"Dad!    Mama!" 

It  was  indeed  a  repentant  Nell,  but  there  was  spirit  yet 
in  the  tired  blue  eyes.  Then  she  caught  sight  of  Gale 
and  gave  him  a  faint  smile. 

"Hello— Dick." 

"Nell!"  Gale  reached  for  her  hand,  held  it  tightly, 
and  found  speech  difficult. 

"You  needn't  worry — about  your  old  horse,"  she  said, 
as  Belding  carried  her  toward  the  door.  "Oh,  Dick! 
Blanco  Sol  is — glorious!" 

Gale  turned  to  greet  his  friend.  Indeed,  it  was  but  a 
haggard  ghost  of  the  cavalryman.  Thorne  looked  ill  or 
wounded.  Gale's  greeting  was  also  a  question  full  of  fear. 

Thome's  answer  was  a  faint  smile.  He  seemed  ready 
to  drop  from  the  saddle.  Gale  helped  Ladd  hold  Thorne 
upon  the  horse  until  they  reached  the  house.  Belding 
came  out  again.  His  welcome  was  checked  as  he  saw 
the  condition  of  the  cavalryman.  Thorne  reeled  into 
Dick's  arms.  But  he  was  able  to  stand  and  walk. 

159 


DESERT   GOLD 

"I'm  not — hurt.  Only  weak — starved,"  he  said.  "Is 
Mercedes —  Take  me  to  her." 

"She'll  be  well  the  minute  she  sees  him,"  averred  Beld- 
ing,  as  he  and  Gale  led  the  cavalryman  to  Mercedes's 
room.  There  they  left  him;  and  Gale,  at  least,  felt  his 
ears  ringing  with  the  girl's  broken  cry  of  joy. 

When  Belding  and  Gale  hurried  forth  again  the  rangers 
were  tending  the  tired  horses.  Upon  returning  to  the 
house  Jim  Lash  calmly  lit  his  pipe,  and  Ladd  declared 
that,  hungry  as  he  was,  he  had  to  tell  his  story. 

"Shore,  Beldin',"  began  Ladd,  "that  was  funny  about 
Diablo  catchin'  Blanco  Sol.  Funny  ain't  the  word.  I 
nearly  laughed  myself  to  death.  Well,  I  rode  in  Sol's 
tracks  all  the  way  to  Casita.  Never  seen  a  rebel  or  a 
raider  till  I  got  to  town,  Figgered  Nell  made  the  trip  in 
five  hours.  I  went  straight  to  the  camp  of  the  cavalry 
men,  an*  found  them  just  coolin'  off  an*  dressin'  down 
their  bosses  after  what  looked  to  me  like  a  big  ride.  I 
got  there  too  late  for  the  fireworks. 

"Some  soldier  took  me  to  an  officer's  tent.  Nell  was 
there,  some  white  an*  all  in.  She  just  said,  'Laddy!' 
Thorne  was  there,  too,  an'  he  was  bein'  worked  over  by 
the  camp  doctor.  I  didn't  ask  no  questions,  because  I 
seen  quiet  was  needed  round  that  tent.  After  satisfying 
myself  that  Nell  was  all  right,  an'  Thorne  in  no  danger, 
I  went  out. 

"Shore  there  was  so  darn  many  fellers  who  wanted  to 
an'  tried  to  tell  me  what'd  come  off,  I  thought  I'd  never 
find  out.  But  I  got  the  story  piece  by  piece.  An'  here's 
what  happened. 

"Nell  rode  Blanco  Sol  a-tearin'  into  camp,  an'  had  a 
crowd  round  her  in  a  jiffy.  She  told  who  she  was,  where 
she'd  come  from,  an'  what  she  wanted.  Well,  it  seemed 
a  day  or  so  before  Nell  got  there  the  cavalrymen  had  heard 
word  of  Thorne.  You  see,  Thorne  had  left  camp  on 
leave  of  absence  some  time  before.  He  was  shore  mys 
terious,  they  said,  an'  told  nobody  where  he  was  goin'. 

160 


ROJAS 

A  week  or  so  after  he  left  camp  some  Greaser  give  it 
away  that  Rojas  had  a  prisoner  in  a  dobe  shack  near  his 
camp.  Nobody  paid  much  attention  to  what  the  Greaser 
said.  He  wanted  money  for  mescal.  An'  it  was  usual 
for  Rojas  to  have  prisoners.  But  in  a  few  more  days  it 
turned  out  pretty  sure  that  for  some  reason  Rojas  was 
holdin'  Thorne. 

"Now  it  happened  when  this  news  came  Colonel  Weede 
was  in  Nogales  with  his  staff,  an'  the  officer  left  in  charge 
didn't  know  how  to  proceed.  Rojas's  camp  was  across 
the  line  in  Mexico,  an'  ridin'  over  there  was  serious  busi 
ness.  It  meant  a  whole  lot  more  than  just  scatterin'  one 
Greaser  camp.  It  was  what  had  been  botherin'  more'n 
one  colonel  along  the  line.  Thome's  feller  soldiers  was 
anxious  to  get  him  out  of  a  bad  fix,  but  they  had  to  wait 
for  orders. 

"When  Nell  found  out  Thorne  was  bein'  starved  an* 
beat  in  a  dobe  shack  no  more'n  two  mile  across  the  line, 
she  shore  stirred  up  that  cavalry  camp.  Shore!  She 
told  them  soldiers  Rojas  was  holdin'  Thorne — torturin* 
him  to  make  him  tell  where  Mercedes  was.  She  told 
about  Mercedes — how  sweet  an*  beautiful  she  was — how 
her  father  had  been  murdered  by  Rojas — how  she  had 
been  hounded  by  the  bandit — how  ill  an*  miserable  she 
was,  waitin'  for  her  lover.  An*  she  begged  the  cavalry 
men  to  rescue  Thorne. 

"From  the  way  it  was  told  to  me  I  reckon  them  cavalry 
men  went  up  in  the  air.  Fine  fiery  lot  of  young  bloods, 
I  thought,  achin*  for  a  scrap.  But  the  officer  in  charge, 
bein'  in  a  ticklish  place,  still  held  out  for  higher  orders. 

"Then  Nell  broke  loose.  You-all  know  Nell's  tongue 
is  sometimes  like  a  choya  thorn.  I'd  have  give  somethin* 
to  see  her  work  up  that  soldier  outfit.  Nell's  never  so 
pretty  as  when  she's  mad.  An*  this  last  stunt  of  hers  was 
no  girly  tantrum,  as  Beldin'  calls  it.  She  musta  been 

ragin*  with  all  the  hell  there's  in  a  woman Can't  you 

fellers  see  her  on  Blanco  Sol  with  her  eyes  turnin'  black?" 

161 


DESERT   GOLD 

Ladd  mopped  his  sweaty  face  with  his  dusty  scarf. 
He  was  beaming.  He  was  growing  excited,  hurried  in 
his  narrative. 

"Right  out  then  Nell  sivore  she'd  go  after  Thorne.  If 
them  cavalrymen  couldn't  ride  with  a  Western  girl  to  save 
a  brother  American — let  them  hang  back!  One  feller, 
under  orders,  tried  to  stop  Blanco  Sol.  An'  that  feller 
invited  himself  to  the  hospital.  Then  the  cavalrymen 
went  flyin'  for  their  hosses.  Mebbe  Nell's  move  was  just 
foxy — woman's  curmin'.  But  I'm  thinkin'  as  she  felt 
then  she'd  have  sent  Blanco  Sol  straight  into  Rojas's 
camp,  which,  I'd  forgot  to  say,  was  in  plain  sight. 

"It  didn't  take  long  for  every  cavalryman  in  that  camp 
to  get  wind  of  what  was  comin'  off.  Shore  they  musta 
been  wild.  They  strung  out  after  Nell  in  a  thunderin' 
troop. 

"Say,  I  wish  you  fellers  could  see  the  lane  that  bunch 
of  hosses  left  in  the  greasewood  an'  cactus.  Looks  like 

there'd  been  a  cattle  stampede  on  the  desert Blanco 

Sol  stayed  out  in  front,  you  can  gamble  on  that.  Right 
into  Rojas's  camp!  Sabe,  you  senors?  Gawd  Almighty! 
I  never  had  a  grief  that  'd  hold  a  candle  to  this  one  of 
bein'  too  late  to  see  Nell  an'  Sol  in  their  one  best  race. 

"Rojas  an'  his  men  vamoosed  without  a  shot.  That 
ain't  surprisin'.  There  wasn't  a  shot  fired  by  anybody. 
The  cavalrymen  soon  found  Thorne  an'  hurried  with  him 
back  on  Uncle  Sam's  land.  Thorne  was  half  naked,  black 
an*  blue  all  over,  thin  as  a  rail.  He  looked  mighty  sick 
when  I  seen  him  first.  That  was  a  little  after  midday. 
He  was  given  food  an1  drink.  Shore  he  seemed  a  starved 
man.  But  he  picked  up  wonderful,  an'  by  the  time  Jim 
came  along  he  was  wantin'  to  start  for  Forlorn  River. 
So  was  Nell.  By  main  strength  as  much  as  persuasion 
we  kept  the  two  of  them  quiet  till  next  evenin*  at  dark. 

"Well,  we  made  as  sneaky  a  start  in  the  dark  as  Jim 
an*  me  could  manage,  an'  never  hit  the  trail  till  we  was 
miles  from  town.  Thome's  nerve  held  him  up  for  a 

162 


ROJAS 

while.  Then  all  at  once  he  tumbled  out  of  his  saddle. 
We  got  him  back,  an'  Lash  held  him  on.  Nell  didn't 
give  out  till  daybreak." 

As  Ladd  paused  in  his  story  Belding  began  to  stutter, 
and  finally  he  exploded.  His  mighty  utterances  were  in 
coherent.  But  plainly  the  wrath  he  had  felt  toward  the 
wilful  girl  was  forgotten.  Gale  remained  gripped  by 
silence. 

"I  reckon  you'll  all  be  some  surprised  when  you  see 
Casita,"  went  on  Ladd.  "It's  half  burned  an'  half  tore 
down.  An'  the  rebels  are  livin'  fat.  There  was  rumors 
of  another  federal  force  on  the  road  from  Case  Grandes. 
I  seen  a  good  many  Americans  from  interior  Mexico,  an* 
the  stories  they  told  would  make  your  hair  stand  up. 
They  all  packed  guns,  was  fightin'  mad  at  Greasers,  an' 
sore  on  the  good  old  U.  S.  But  shore  glad  to  get  over 
the  line !  Some  were  waitin*  for  trains,  which  don't  run 
reg'lar  no  more,  an*  others  were  ready  to  hit  the  trails 
north." 

"Laddy,  what  knocks  me  is  Rojas  holding  Thome 
prisoner,  trying  to  make  him  tell  where  Mercedes  had 
been  hidden,"  said  Belding. 

"Shore.     It  'd  knock  anybody." 

"The  bandit's  crazy  over  her.  That's  the  Spanish  of 
it,"  replied  Belding,  his  voice  rolling.  "Rojas  is  a  peon. 
He's  been  a  slave  to  the  proud  Castilian.  He  loves  Mer 
cedes  as  he  hates  her.  When  I  was  down  in  Durango  I 
saw  something  of  these  peons'  insane  passions.  Rojas 
wants  this  girl  only  to  have  her,  then  kill  her.  It's  damn 
strange,  boys,  and  even  with  Thome  here  our  troubles 
have  just  begun." 

"Tom,  you  spoke  correct,"  said  Jim  Ladd,  in  his  cool 
drawl. 

"Shore  I'm  not  sayin'  what  I  think,"  added  Ladd.  But 
the  look  of  him  was  not  indicative  of  a  tranquil  optimism. 

Thorne  was  put  to  bed  in  Gale's  room.  He  was  very 
.weak,  yet  he  would  keep  Mercedes's  hand  and  gaze  at 

163 


DESERT   GOLD 

her  with  unbelieving  eyes.  Mercedes's  failing  hold  on 
hope  and  strength  seemed  to  have  been  a  fantasy;  she 
was  again  vivid,  magnetic,  beautiful,  shot  through  and 
through  with  intense  and  throbbing  life.  She  induced 
him  to  take  food  and  drink.  Then,  fighting  sleep  with 
what  little  strength  he  had  left,  at  last  he  succumbed. 

For  all  Dick  could  ascertain  his  friend  never  stirred 
an  eyelash  nor  a  finger  for  twenty-seven  hours.  When  he 
awoke  he  was  pale,  weak,  but  the  old  Thorne. 

"Hello,  Dick ;  I  didn't  dream  it  then,"  he  said.  "There 
you  are,  and  my  darling  with  the  proud,  dark  eyes — she's 
here?" 

"Why,  yes,  you  locoed  cavalryman." 

"Say,  what's  happened  to  you?  It  can't  be  those 
clothes  and  a  little  bronze  on  your  face. . . .  Dick,  you're 
older — you've  Changed.  You're  not  so  thickly  built, 
By  Gad,  if  yo'  don't  look  fine !" 

"Thanks.  I'm  sorry  I  can't  /eturn  the  compliment. 
You're  about  the  seediest,  hungriest-looking  fellow  I  ever 
saw. . . .  Say,  old  man,  you  must  have  had  a  tough  time." 

A  dark  and  somber  fire  burned  out  the  happiness  in 
Thome's  eyes. 

"Dick,  don't  make  me — don't  let  me  think  of  that 
fiend  Rojas ! . . .  I'm  here  now.  I'll  be  well  in  a  day  or 
two.  Then ! . . ." 

Mercedes  came  in,  radiant  and  soft-voiced.  She  fell 
upon  her  knees  beside  Thome's  bed,  and  neither  of  them 
appeared  to  see  Nell  enter  with  a  tray.  Then  Gale  and 
Nell  made  a  good  deal  of  unnecessary  bustle  in  moving  a 
small  table  close  to  the  bed.  Mercedes  had  forgotten 
for  the  moment  that  her  lover  had  been  a  starving  man. 
If  Thorne  remembered  it  he  did  not  care.  They  held 
hands  and  looked  at  each  other  without  speaking. 

"Nell,  I  thought  I  had  it  bad,"  whispered  Dick.  "But 
I'm  not—" 

"Hush.  It's  beautiful/  replied  Nell,  softly;  and  she 
tried  to  coax  Dick  from  the  room. 

164 


ROJAS 

Dick,  however,  thought  he  ought  to  remain  at  least 
long  enough  to  tell  Thorne  that  a  man  in  his  condition 
could  not  exist  solely  upon  love. 

Mercedes  sprang  up  blushing  with  pretty,  penitent 
manner  and  moving  white  hands  eloquent  of  her  condition. 

"Oh,  Mercedes — don't  go!"  cried  Thorne,  as  she 
stepped  to  the  door. 

"Senor  Dick  will  stay.  He  is  not  mucha  malo  for  you 
'. — as  I  am." 

Then  she  smiled  and  went  out. 

"Good  Lord!"  exclaimed  Thorne.  "How  I  love  her* 
Dick,  isn't  she  the  most  beautiful,  the  loveliest,  the 
finest—" 

"George,  I  share  your  enthusiasm,"  said  Dick,  dryly, 
"but  Mercedes  isn't  the  only  girl  on  earth." 

Manifestly  this  was  a  startling  piece  of  information, 
and  struck  Thorne  in  more  than  one  way. 

"George,"  went  on  Dick,  "did  you  happen  to  observe 
the  girl  who  saved  your  life — who  incidentally  just 
fetched  in  your  breakfast?" 

"Nell  Burton!  Why,  of  course.  She's  brave,  a  won 
derful  girl,  and  really  nice-looking." 

"You  long,  lean,  hungry  beggar!  That  was  the  young 
lady  who  might  answer  the  raving  eulogy  you  just  got 
out  of  your  system ....  I — well,  you  haven't  cornered  the 
love  market!" 

Thorne  uttered  some  kind  of  a  sound  that  his  weakened 
condition  would  not  allow  to  be  a  whoop. 

"Dick!    Do  you  mean  it?" 

"I  shore  do,  as  Laddy  says." 

"I'm  glad,  Dick,  with  all  my  heart.  I  wondered  at  the 
changed  look  you  wear.  Why,  boy,  you've  got  a  differ 
ent  front Call  the  lady  in,  and  you  bet  I'll  look  her 

over  right.  I  can  see  better  now." 

"Eat  your  breakfast.  There's  plenty  of  time  to  dazzle 
you  afterward." 

Thorne  fell  to  upon  his  breakfast  and  made  it  vanish 


DESERT   GOLD 

with  magic  speed.  Meanwhile  Dick  told  him  something 
of  a  ranger's  life  along  the  border. 

"You  needn't  waste  your  breath,"  said  Thorne.  "I 
guess  I  can  see.  Belding  and  those  rangers  have  made 

you  the  real  thing— the  real  Western  goods What  I 

want  to  know  is  all  about  the  girl." 

"Well,  Laddy  swears  she's  got  your  girl  roped  in  the 
corral  for  looks." 

'That's  not  possible.  I'll  have  to  talk  to  Laddy 

But  she  must  be  a  wonder,  or  Dick  Gale  would  never 
have  fallen  for  her. ...  Isn't  it  great,  Dick?  I'm  here! 
Mercedes  is  well — safe!  You've  got  a  girl!  Oh!  .  .  . 
But  say,  I  haven't  a  dollar  to  my  name.  I  had  a  lot  of 
money,  Dick,  .and  those  robbers  stole  it,  my  watch — 
everything.  Damn  that  little  black  Greaser!  He  got 
(Mercedes's  letters.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  him  try 
ing  to  read  them.  He's  simply  nutty  over  her,  Dick.  I 
could  have  borne  the  loss  of  money  and  valuables — but 
those  beautiful,  wonderful  letters — they're  gone!" 

"Cheer  up.  You  have  the  girl.  Belding  will  make 
you  a  proposition  presently.  The  future  smiles,  old 
friend.  If  this  rebel  business  was  only  ended !" 

"Dick,  you're  going  to  be  my  savior  twice  over 

iWell,  now,  listen  to  me."  His  gay  excitement  changed 
to  earnest  gravity.  "I  want  to  marry  Mercedes  at  once. 
Is  there  a  padre  here?" 

"Yes.  But  are  you  wise  in  letting  any  Mexican,  even 
a  priest,  know  Mercedes  is  hidden  in  Forlorn  River?" 

"It  couldn't  be  kept  much  longer." 

Gale  was  compelled  to  acknowledge  the  truth  of  this 
statement. 

"I'll  marry  her  first,  then  I'll  face  my  problem.  Fetch 
the  padre,  Dick.  And  ask  our  kind  friends  to  be  wit 
nesses  at  the  ceremony." 

Much  to  Gale's  surprise  neither  Belding  nor  Ladd  ob 
jected  to  the  idea  of  bringing  a  padre  into  the  household, 
and  thereby  making  known  to  at  least  one  Mexican  the 

166 


ROJAS 

whereabouts  of  Mercedes  Castaneda.  Belding's  caution 
was  wearing  out  in  wrath  at  the  persistent  unsettled  con 
dition  of  the  border,  and  Ladd  grew  only  the  cooler  and 
more  silent  as  possibilities  of  trouble  multiplied. 

Gale  fetched  the  padre,  a  little,  weazened,  timid  man 
who  was  old  and  without  interest  or  penetration.  Ap 
parently  he  married  Mercedes  and  Thorne  as  he  told  his 
beads  or  mumbled  a  prayer.  It  was  Mrs.  Belding  who 
kept  the  occasion  from  being  a  merry  one,  and  she  in 
sisted  on  not  exciting  Thorne.  Gale  marked  her  un 
usual  pallor  and  the  singular  depth  and  sweetness  of  her 
voice. 

"Mother,  what's  the  use  of  making  a  funeral  out  of  a 
marriage?"  protested  Belding.  "A  chance  for  some  fun 
doesn't  often  come  to  Forlorn  River.  You're  a  fine  doc 
tor.  Can't  you  see  the  girl  is  what  Thorne  needed? 
He'll  be  well  to-morrow,  don't  mistake  me." 

"George,  when  you're  all  right  again  we'll  add  some 
thing  to  present  congratulations,"  said  Gale. 

"We  shore  will,"  put  in  Ladd. 

So  with  parting  jests  and  smiles  they  left  the  couple 
to  themselves. 

Belding  enjoyed  a  laugh  at  his  good  wife's  expense,  for 
Thorne  could  not  be  kept  in  bed,  and  all  in  a  day,  it 
seemed,  he  grew  so  well  and  so  hungry  that  his  friends 
were  delighted,  and  Mercedes  was  radiant.  In  a  few  days 
his  weakness  disappeared  and  he  was  going  the  round  of 
the  fields  and  looking  over  the  ground  marked  out  in 
Gale's  plan  of  water  development.  Thorne  was  highly 
enthusiastic,  and  at  once  staked  out  his  claim  for  one 
hundred  and  sixty  acres  of  land  adjoining  that  of  Belding 
and  the  rangers.  These  five  tracts  took  in  all  the  ground 
necessary  for  their  operations,  but  in  case  of  the  success 
of  the  irrigation  project  the  idea  was  to  increase  their 
squatter  holding  by  purchase  of  more  land  down  the 
valley.  A  hundred  families  had  lately  moved  to  For 
lorn  River ;  more  were  coming  all  the  time ;  and  Belding 

167 


DESERT   GOLD 

vowed  he  could  see  a  vision  of  the  whole  Altar  Valley 
green  with  farms. 

Meanwhile  everybody  in  Belding's  household,  except 
the  quiet  Ladd  and  the  watchful  Yaqui,  in  the  absence  of 
disturbance  of  any  kind  along  the  border,  grew  freer  and 
more  unrestrained,  as  if  anxiety  was  slowly  fading  in  the 
peace  of  the  present.  Jim  Lash  made  a  trip  to  the  Sonoyta 
Oasis,  and  Ladd  patrolled  fifty  miles  of  the  line  eastward 
without  incident  or  sight  of  raiders.  Evidently  all  the 
border  hawks  were  in  at  the  picking  of  Casita. 

The  February  nights  were  cold,  with  a  dry,  icy,  pene 
trating  coldness  that  made  a  warm  fire  most  comfortable. 
Belding's  household  usually  congregated  in  the  sitting- 
room,  where  burning  mesquite  logs  crackled  in  the  open 
fireplace.  Belding's  one  passion  besides  horses  was  the 
game  of  checkers,  and  he  was  always  wanting  to  play. 
On  this  night  he  sat  playing  with  Ladd,  who  never  won 
a  game  and  never  could  give  up  trying.  Mrs.  Belding 
worked  with  her  needle,  stopping  from  time  to  time  to 
gaze  with  thoughtful  eyes  into  the  fire.  Jim  Lash  smoked 
his  pipe  by  the  hearth  and  played  with  the  cat  on  his 
knee.  Thorne  and  Mercedes  were  at  the  table  with  pencil 
and  paper ;  and  he  was  trying  his  best  to  keep  his  atten 
tion  from  his  wife's  beautiful,  animated  face  long  enough 
to  read  and  write  a  little  Spanish.  Gale  and  Nell  sat  in  a 
corner  watching  the  bright  fire. 

There  came  a  low  knock  on  the  door.  It  may  have 
been  an  ordinary  knock,  for  it  did  not  disturb  the 
women;  but  to  Belding  and  his  rangers  it  had  a  subtle 
meaning. 

"Who's  that  ?"  asked  Belding,  as  he  slowly  pushed  back 
his  chair  and  looked  at  Ladd. 

"Yaqui,"  replied  the  ranger. 

"Come  in,"  called  Belding. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  short,  square,  powerfully 
built  Indian  entered.  He  had  a  magnificent  head, 
strangely  staring,  somber  black  eyes,  and  very  darkly 

168 


ROJAS 

bronzed  face.    He  carried  a  rifle  and  strode  with  itn 
pressive  dignity. 

"Yaqui,  what  do  you  want?"  asked  Belding,  and  re 
peated  his  question  in  Spanish. 

"Sefior  Dick,"  replied  the  Indian. 

Gale  jumped  up,  stifling  an  exclamation,  and  he  went 
outdoors  with  Yaqui.  He  felt  his  arm  gripped,  and  al 
lowed  himself  to  be  led  away  without  asking  a  question. 
Yaqui's  presence  was  always  one  of  gloom,  and  now  his 
stern  action  boded  catastrophe.  Once  clear  of  trees  he 
pointed  to  the  level  desert  across  the  river,  where  a  row 
of  campfires  shone  bright  out  of  the  darkness. 

"Raiders!"  ejaculated  Gale. 

Then  he  cautioned  Yaqui  to  keep  sharp  lookout,  and, 
hurriedly  returning  to  the  house,  he  called  the  men  out 
and  told  them  there  were  rebels  or  raiders  camping  just 
across  the  line. 

Ladd  did  not  say  a  word.  Belding,  with  an  oath, 
slammed  down  his  cigar. 

"I  knew  it  was  too  good  to  last Dick,  you  and  Jim 

stay  here  while  Laddy  and  I  look  around." 

Dick  returned  to  the  sitting-room.  The  women  were 
nervous  and  not  to  be  deceived.  So  Dick  merely  said 
Yaqui  had  sighted  some  lights  off  in  the  desert,  and  they 
probably  were  campfires.  Belding  did  not  soon  return, 
and  when  he  did  he  was  alone,  and,  saying  he  wanted  to 
consult  with  the  men,  he  sent  Mrs.  Belding  and  the  girls 
to  their  rooms.  His  gloomy  anxiety  had  returned. 

"Laddy's  gone  over  to  scout  around  and  try  to  find  out 
who  the  outfit  belongs  to  and  how  many  are  in  it,"  said 
Belding. 

"I  reckon  if  they're  raiders  with  bad  intentions  we 
wouldn't  see  no  fires,"  remarked  Jim,  calmly. 

"It'd  be  useless,  I  suppose,  to  send  for  the  cavalry," 
said  Gale.  "Whatever's  coming  off  would  be  over  before 
the  soldiers  could  be  notified,  let  alone  reach  here." 

"Hell,  fellows !    I  don't  look  for  an  attack  on  Forlorn 

169 


DESERT   GOLD 

River,"  burst  out  Belding.  "I  can't  believe  that  pos 
sible.  These  rebel-raiders  have  a  little  sense.  They 
wouldn't  spoil  their  game  by  pulling  U.  S.  soldiers  across 
the  line  from  Yuma  to  El  Paso.  But,  as  Jim  says,  if  they 
wanted  to  steal  a  few  horses  or  cattle  they  wouldn't  build 
fires.  I'm  afraid  it's — " 

Belding  hesitated  and  looked  with  grim  concern  at  the 
cavalryman. 

"What?"  queried  Thorne. 

"I'm  afraid  it's  Rojas." 

Thome  turned  pale  but  did  not  lose  his  nerve. 

"I  thought  of  that  at  once.  If  true,  it  '11  be  terrible  for 
Mercedes  and  me.  But  Rojas  will  never  get  his  hands 
on  my  wife.  If  I  can't  kill  him,  I'll  kill  her ! . . .  Belding, 
this  is  tough  on  you — this  risk  we  put  upon  your  family. 
I  regret—" 

"Cut  that  kind  of  talk,"  replied  Belding,  bluntly. 
J'Well,  if  it  is  Rojas  he's  acting  damn  strange  for  a  raider. 
That's  what  worries  me.  We  can't  do  anything  but  wait. 
With  Laddy  and  Yaqui  out  there  we  won't  be  surprised. 
Let's  take  the  best  possible  view  of  the  situation  until  we 
know  more.  That  '11  not  likely  be  before  to-morrow." 

The  women  of  the  house  might  have  gotten  some  sleep 
that  night,  but  it  was  certain  the  men  did  not  get  any. 
Morning  broke  cold  and  gray,  the  iQth  of  February. 
Breakfast  was  prepared  earlier  than  usual,  and  an  air 
of  suppressed  waiting  excitement  pervaded  the  place. 
Otherwise  the  ordinary  details  of  the  morning's  work  con 
tinued  as  on  any  other  day.  Ladd  came  in  hungry  and 
cold,  and  said  the  Mexicans  were  not  breaking  camp.  He 
reported  a  good-sized  force  of  rebels,  and  was  taciturn  as 
to  his  idea  of  forthcoming  events. 

About  an  hour  after  sunrise  Yaqui  ran  in  with  the  in 
formation  that  part  of  the  rebels  were  crossing  the  river. 

"That  can't  mean  a  fight  yet,"  declared  Belding. 
"But  get  in  the  house,  boys,  and  make  ready  anyway. 
I'll  meet  them." 

170 


ROJAS 

"Drive  them  off  the  place  same  as  if  you  had  a 
pany  of  soldiers  backin'  you,"  said  Ladd.  "Don't  give 
them  an  inch.  We're  in  bad,  and  the  bigger  bluff  we  put 
up  the  more  likely  our  chance." 

"Belding,  you're  an  officer  of  the  United  States.  Mexi 
cans  are  much  impressed  by  show  of  authority.  I've  seen 
that  often  in  camp,"  said  Thorne. 

"Oh,  I  know  the  white-livered  Greasers  better  than 
any  of  you,  don't  mistake  me,"  replied  Belding.  He  was 
pale  with  rage,  but  kept  command  over  himself. 

The  rangers,  with  Yaqui  and  Thorne,  stationed  them 
selves  at  the  several  windows  of  the  sitting-room.  Rifles 
and  smaller  arms  and  boxes  of  shells  littered  the  tables 
and  window  seats.  No  small  force  of  besiegers  could 
overcome  a  resistance  such  as  Belding  and  his  men  were 
capable  of  making. 

"Here  they  come,  boys,"  called  Gale,  from  his  window. 
"Rebel-raiders  I  should  say,  Laddy." 

"Shore.    An*  a  fine  outfit  for  buzzards !" 

"Reckon  there's  about  a  dozen  in  the  bunch,"  observed 
the  calm  Lash.  "Some  hosses  they're  ridin'.  Where'n 
the  hell  do  they  get  such  hosses,  anyhow?" 

"Shore,  Jim,  they  work  hard  an'  buy  'em  with  reaj 
diver  pesos,"  replied  Ladd,  sarcastically. 

"Do  any  of  you  see  Rojas?"  whispered  Thorne. 

"Nix.    No  dandy  bandit  in  that  outfit." 

"It's  too  far  to  see,"  said  Gale. 

The  horsemen  halted  at  the  corrals.  They  were  orderly 
and  showed  no  evidence  of  hostility.  They  were,  however, 
fully  armed.  Belding  stalked  out  to  meet  them.  Ap 
parently  a  leader  wanted  to  parley  with  him,  but  Beld 
ing  would  hear  nothing.  He  shook  his  head,  waved  his 
arms,  stamped  to  and  fro,  and  his  loud,  angry  voice 
could  be  heard  clear  back  at  the  house.  Whereupon  the 
detachment  of  rebels  retired  to  the  bank  of  the  river, 
beyond  the  white  post  that  marked  the  boundary  line, 
and  there  they  once  more  drew  rein.  Balding  remained 

171 


DESERT   GOLD 

by  the  corrals  watching  them,  evidently  still  in  threat 
ening  mood.  Presently  a  single  rider  left  the  troop  and 
trotted  his  horse  back  down  the  road.  When  he  reached 
the  corrals  he  was  seen  to  halt  and  pass  something  to 
Belding.  Then  he  galloped  away  to  join  his  comrades. 

Belding  looked  at  whatever  it  was  he  held  in  his  hand> 
shook  his  burly  head,  and  started  swiftly  for  the  house. 
He  came  striding  into  the  room  holding  a  piece  of  soilec 
paper. 

"Can't  read  it  and  don't  know  as  I  want  to,"  he  said 
savagely. 

"Beldin',  shore  we'd  better  read  it,"  replied  Ladd. 
"What  we  want  is  a  line  on  them  Greasers.  Whether 
they're  Campo's  men  or  Salazar's,  or  just  a  wanderin* 
bunch  of  rebels — or  Rojas's  bandits.  Sabe,  senor?" 

Not  one  of  the  men  was  able  to  translate  the  garbled 
scrawl. 

"Shore  Mercedes  can  read  it,"  said  Ladd. 

Thorne  opened  a  door  and  called  her.  She  came  into 
the  room  followed  by  Nell  and  Mrs.  Belding.  Evidently 
all  three  divined  a  critical  situation. 

"My  dear,  we  want  you  to  read  what's  written  on  this 
paper,"  said  Thorne,  as  he  led  her  to  the  table.  "It  was 
sent  in  by  rebels,  and — and  we  fear  contains  bad  news 
for  us." 

Mercedes  gave  the  writing  one  swift  glance,  then 
fainted  in  Thome's  arms.  He  carried  her  to  a  couch,  and 
with  Nell  and  Mrs.  Belding  began  to  work  over  her. 

Belding  looked  at  his  rangers.  It  was  characteristic 
of  the  man  that,  now  when  catastrophe  appeared  inevi 
table,  all  the  gloom  and  care  and  angry  agitation  passed 
from  him. 

"Laddy,  it's  Rojas  all  right.  How  many  men  has  he 
out  there?" 

"Mebbe  twenty.    Not  more." 

"We  can  lick  twice  that  many  Greasers." 

"Shore." 

17? 


ROJAS 

Jim  Lash  removed  his  pipe  long  enough  to  speak. 

"I  reckon.  But  it  ain't  sense  to  start  a  fight  when 
mebbe  we  can  avoid  it." 

"What's  your  idea?" 

"Let's  stave  the  Greaser  off  till  dark.  Then  Laddy  an' 
me  an'  Thome  will  take  Mercedes  an'  hit  the  trail  for 
Yuma." 

"Camino  del  Diablo !  That  awful  trail  with  a  woman ! 
Jim,  do  you  forget  how  many  hundreds  of  men  have 
perished  on  the  Devil's  Road?" 

"I  reckon  I  ain't  forgettin'  nothin',"  replied  Jim. 
"The  waterholes  are  full  now.  There's  grass,  an'  we 
can  do  the  job  in  six  days." 

"It's  three  hundred  miles  to  Yuma." 

"Beldin*,  Jim's  idea  hits  me  pretty  reasonable,"  inter 
posed  Ladd.  "Lord  knows  that's  about  the  only  chance 
we've  got  except  fightin'." 

"But  suppose  we  do  stave  Rojas  off,  and  you  get  safely 
away  with  Mercedes.  Isn't  Rojas  going  to  find  it  out 
quick?  Then  what'll  he  try  to  do  to  us  who're  left  here?" 

"I  reckon  he'd  find  out  by  daylight,"  replied  Jim. 
"But,  Tom,  he  ain't  agoin*  to  start  a  scrap  then.  He'd 
want  time  an*  hosses  an'  men  to  chase  us  out  on  the  trail. 
You  see,  I'm  figgerin'  on  the  crazy  Greaser  wantin'  the 
girl.  I  reckon  he'll  try  to  clean  up  here  to  get  her.  But 
he's  too  smart  to  fight  you  for  nothin'.  Rojas  may  be 
nutty  about  women,  but  he's  afraid  of  the  U.  S.  Take 
my  word  for  it  he'd  discover  the  trail  in  the  mornin'  an' 
light  out  on  it.  I  reckon  with  ten  hours'  start  we  could 
travel  comfortable." 

Belding  paced  up  and  down  the  room.  Jim  and  Ladd 
whispered  together.  Gale  walked  to  the  window  and 
looked  out  at  the  distant  group  of  bandits,  and  then 
turned  his  gaze  to  rest  upon  Mercedes.  She  was  con 
scious  now,  and  her  eyes  seemed  all  the  larger  and  blacker 
for  the  whiteness  of  her  face.  Thome  held  her  hands, 
and  the  other  women  were  trying  to  still  her  tremblings. 

173 


DESERT    GOLD 

No  one  but  Gale  saw  the  Yaqui  in  the  background  look 
ing  down  upon  the  Spanish  girl.  All  of  Yaqui's  looks 
were  strange;  but  this  was  singularly  so.  Gale  marked 
it,  and  felt  he  would  never  forget.  Mercedes's  beauty 
had  never  before  struck  him  as  being  so  exquisite,  so 
alluring  as  now  when  she  lay  stricken.  Gale  wondered 
if  the  Indian  was  affected  by  her  loveliness,  her  helpless 
ness,  or  her  terror.  Yaqui  had  seen  Mercedes  only  a 
few  times,  and  upon  each  of  these  he  had  appeared  to 
be  fascinated.  Could  the  strange  Indian,  because  his 
hate  for  Mexicans  was  so  great,  be  gloating  over  her 
misery?  Something  about  Yaqui — a  noble  austerity  of 
countenance — made  Gale  feel  his  suspicion  unjust. 

Presently  Belding  called  his  rangers  to  him,  and  then 
[Thorne. 

"Listen  to  this,"  he  said,  earnestly.  "I'll  go  out  and 
have  a  talk  with  Rojas.  I'll  try  to  reason  with  him ;  tell 
him  to  think  a  long  time  before  he  sheds  blood  on  Uncle 
Sam's  soil.  That  he's  now  after  an  American's  wife! 
I'll  not  commit  myself,  nor  will  I  refuse  outright  to  con 
sider  his  demands,  nor  will  I  show  the  least  fear  of  him. 
I'll  play  for  time.  If  my  bluff  goes  through  . . .  well  and 
good. . . .  After  dark  the  four  of  you,  Laddy,  Jim,  Dick 
and  Thorne,  will  take  Mercedes  and  my  best  white  horses, 
and,  with  Yaqui  as  guide,  circle  round  through  Altar  Val 
ley  to  the  trail,  and  head  for  Yuma Wait  now,  Laddy. 

Let  me  finish.  I  want  you  to  take  the  white  horses  for 
two  reasons — to  save  them  and  to  save  you.  Savvy? 
If  Rojas  should  follow  on  my  horses  he'd  be  likely  to 
catch  you.  Also,  you  can  pack  a  great  deal  more  than 
on  the  bronchs.  Also,  the  big  horses  can  travel  faster 
and  farther  on  little  grass  and  water.  I  want  you  to  take 
the  Indian,  because  in  a  case  of  this  kind  he'll  be  a  god 
send.  If  you  get  headed  or  lost  or  have  to  circle  off  the 
trail,  think  what  it  'd  mean  to  have  a  Yaqui  with  you. 
He  knows  Sonora  as  no  Greaser  knows  it.  He  could 
hide  you.  find  water  and  grass,  when  you  would  abso- 

174 


ROJAS 

iutely  believe  it  impossible.  The  Indian  is  loyal.  He  has 
his  debt  to  pay,  and  he'll  pay  it,  don't  mistake  me.  When 
you're  gone  I'll  hide  Nell  so  Rojas  won't  see  her  if  he 
searches  the  place.  Then  I  think  I  could  sit  down  and 
wait  without  any  particular  worry." 

The  rangers  approved  of  Belding's  plan,  and  Thorne 
choked  in  his  effort  to  express  his  gratitude. 

"All  right,  we'll  chance  it,"  concluded  Belding.  "I'll 
go  out  now  and  call  Rojas  and  his  outfit  over. . . .  Say, 
it  might  be  as  well  for  me  to  know  just  what  he  said  in 
that  paper." 

Thorne  went  to  the  side  of  his  wife. 

"Mercedes,  we've  planned  to  outwit  Rojas.  Will  you 
tell  us  just  what  he  wrote?" 

The  girl  sat  up,  her  eyes  dilating,  and  with  her  hands 
clasping  Thome's.  She  said: 

"Rojas  swore — by  his  saints  and  his  virgin — that  if  I 
wasn't  given — to  him — in  twenty-four  hours — he  would 
set  fire  to  the  village — kill  the  men — carry  'off  the  women- 
• — hang  the  children  on  cactus  thorns !" 

A  moment's  silence  followed  her  last  halting  whisper 

"By  his  saints  an*  his  virgin!"  echoed  Ladd.  He 
laughed — a  cold,  cutting,  deadly  laugh — significant  and 
terrible. 

Then  the  Yaqui  uttered  a  singular  cry.  Gale  had 
heard  this  once  before,  and  now  he  remembered  it  was 
at  the  Papago  Well. 

"Look  at  the  Indian,"  whispered  Belding,  hoarsely. 
"Damn  if  I  don't  believe  he  understood  every  word  Mer 
cedes  said.  And,  gentlemen,  don't  mistake  me,  if  he  ever 
gets  near  Senor  Rojas  there'll  be  some  gory  Aztec  knife 
work." 

Yaqui  had  moved  close  to  Mercedes,  and  stood  beside 
her  as  she  leaned  against  her  husband.  She  seemed  im 
pelled  to  meet  the  Indian's  gaze,  and  evidently  it  was  so 
powerful  or  hypnotic  that  it  wrought  irresistibly  upon 
her.  But  she  must  have  seen  or  divined  what  was  be- 

175 


DESERT   GOLD 

yond  the  others,  for  she  offered  him  her  trembling  hand. 
Yaqui  took  it  and  laid  it  against  his  body  in  a  strange 
motion,  and  bowed  his  head.  Then  he  stepped  back  into 
the  shadow  of  the  room. 

Belding  went  outdoors  while  the  rangers  took  up  their 
former  position  at  the  west  window.  Each  had  his  own 
jomber  thoughts,  Gale  imagined,  and  knew  his  own  were 
uark  enough.  A  slow  fire  crept  along  his  veins.  He  saw 
Belding  halt  at  the  corrals  and  wave  his  hand.  Then  the 
rebels  mounted  and  came  briskly  up  the  road,  this  time 
to  rein  in  abreast. 

Wherever  Rojas  had  kept  himself  upon  the  former  ad 
vance  was  not  clear ;  but  he  certainly  was  prominently  in 
sight  now.  He  made  a  gaudy,  almost  a  dashing  figure. 
Gale  did  not  recognize  the  white  sombrero,  the  crimson 
scarf,  the  velvet  jacket,  nor  any  feature  of  the  dandy's 
costume;  but  their  general  effect,  the  whole  ensemble, 
recalled  vividly  to  mind  his  first  sight  of  the  bandit. 
Rojas  dismounted  and  seemed  to  be  listening.  He  be* 
trayed  none  of  the  excitement  Gale  had  seen  in  him  that 
night  at  the  Del  Sol.  Evidently  this  composure  struck 
Ladd  and  Lash  as  unusual  in  a  Mexican  supposed  to  be 
laboring  under  stress  of  feeling.  Belding  made  gestures, 
vehemently  bobbed  his  big  head,  appeared  to  talk  with  his 
body  as  much  as  with  his  tongue.  Then  Rojas  was  seen 
to  reply,  and  after  that  it  was  clear  that  the  talk  became 
painful  and  difficult.  It  ended  finally  in  what  appeared 
to  be  mutual  understanding.  Rojas  mounted  and  rode 
away  with  his  men,  while  Belding  came  tramping  back 
to  the  house. 

As  he  entered  the  door  his  eyes  were  shining,  his  big 
hands  were  clenched,  and  he  was  breathing  audibly. 

"You  can  rope  me  if  I'm  not  locoed !"  he  burst  out.  "I 
went  out  to  conciliate  a  red-handed  little  murderer,  and 
damn  me  if  I  didn't  meet  a — a — well,  I've  no  suitable 
name  handy.  I  started  my  bluff  and  got  along  pretty 
well,  but  I  forgot  to  mention  that  Mercedes  was  Thome's 


ROJAS 

wife.  And  what  do  you  think?  Rojas  swore  he  loved 
Mercedes — swore  he'd  marry  her  right  here  in  Forlorn 
River — swore  he  would  give  up  robbing  and  killing  peo 
ple,  and  take  her  away  from  Mexico.  He  has  gold — 
jewels.  He  swore  if  he  didn't  get  her  nothing  mattered. 

He'd  die  anyway  without  her And  here's  the  strange 

thing.  I  believe  him!  He  was  cold  as  ice,  and  all  hell 
inside.  Never  saw  a  Greaser  like  him.  Well,  I  pretended 
to  be  greatly  impressed.  We  got  to  talking  friendly,  I 
suppose,  though  I  didn't  understand  half  he  said,  and  I 
imagine  he  gathered  less  what  I  said.  Anyway,  without 
my  asking  he  said  for  me  to  think  it  over  for  a  day  and 
then  we'd  talk  again." 

"Shore  we're  born  lucky !"  ejaculated  Ladd. 

"I  reckon  Rojas'll  be  smart  enough  to  string  his  out 
fit  across  the  few  trails  leadin'  out  of  Forlorn  River,"  re 
marked  Jim. 

"That  needn't  worry  us.  All  we  want  is  dark  to  come," 
replied  Belding.  "Yaqui  will  slip  through.  If  we  thank 
any  lucky  stars  let  it  be  for  the  Indian. . . .  Now,  boys,  put 
on  your  thinking  caps.  You'll  take  eight  horses,  the  pick 
of  my  bunch.  You  must  pack  all  that's  needed  for  a 
possible  long  trip.  Mind,  Yaqui  may  lead  you  down  into 
some  wild  Sonora  valley  and  give  Rojas  the  slip.  You 
may  get  to  Yuma  in  six  days,  and  maybe  in  six  weeks. 
Yet  you've  got  to  pack  light — a  small  pack  in  saddles — 
larger  ones  on  the  two  free  horses.  You  may  have  a  big 
fight.  Laddy,  take  the  .405.  Dick  will  pack  his  Rem 
ington.  All  of  you  go  gunned  heavy.  But  the  main 
thing  is  a  pack  that  '11  be  light  enough  for  swift  travel, 
yet  one  that  '11  keep  you  from  starving  on  the  desert." 

The  rest  of  that  day  passed  swiftly.  Dick  had  scarcely 
a  word  wfth  Nell,  and  all  the  time,  as  he  chose  and  de 
liberated  and  worked  over  his  little  pack,  there  was  a 
dull  pain  in  his  heart. 

The  sun  set,  twilight  fell,  then  night  closed  down,  for 
tunately  a  night  slightly  overcast.  Gale  saw  the  white 

177 


DESERT   GOLD 

horses  pass  his  door  like  silent  ghosts.  Even  Blanco 
Diablo  made  no  sound,  and  that  fact  was  indeed  a  tribute 
to  the  Yaqui.  Gale  went  out  to  put  his  saddle  on  Blanco 
Sol.  The  horse  rubbed  a  soft  nose  against  his  shoulder. 
Then  Gale  returned  to  the  sitting-room.  There  was 
nothing  more  to  do  but  wait  and  say  good-by.  Mer 
cedes  came  clad  in  leather  chaps  and  coat,  a  slim  stripling 
of  a  cowboy,  her  dark  eyes  flashing.  Her  beauty  could 
not  be  hidden,  and  now  hope  and  courage  had  fired  her 
blood. 

Gale  drew  Nell  off  into  the  shadow  of  the  room.  She 
was  trembling,  and  as  she  leaned  toward  him  she  was 
very  different  from  the  coy  girl  who  had  so  long  held 
him  aloof.  He  took  her  into  his  arms. 

"Dearest,  I'm  going  —  soon.  .  .  .  And  maybe  I'll 
never — " 

"Dick,  do — don't  say  it,"  sobbed  Nell,  with  her  head 
on  his  breast. 

"I  might  never  come  back,"  he  went  on,  steadily.  "I 
love  you — I've  loved  you  ever  since  the  first  moment  I 
saw  you.  Do  you  care  for  me — a  little?" 

"Dear  Dick — de-dear  Dick,  my  heart  is  breaking," 
faltered  Nell,  as  she  clung  to  him. 

"It  might  be  breaking  for  Mercedes — for  Laddy  and 
Jim.  I  want  to  hear  something  for  myself.  Something 
to  have  on  long  marches — round  lonely  campfires.  Some 
thing  to  keep  my  spirit  alive.  Oh,  Nell,  you  can't  imagine 
that  silence  out  there — that  terrible  world  of  sand  and 
stone ! ,  g  g  Do  you  love  me  ?" 

"Yes,  yes.  Oh,  I  love  you  so!  I  never  knew  it  till 
now.  I  love  you  so.  Dick,  I'll  be  safe  and  I'll  wait — 
and  hope  and  pray  for  your  return." 

"If  I  come  back — no — when  I  come  back,  will  you 
marry  me?" 

"I — I — oh  yes!"  she  whispered,  and  returned  his  kiss. 

Belding  was  in  the  room  speaking  softly. 

"Nell,  curling,  I  must  go,"  said  Dick 

178 


ROJAS 

"I'm  a  selfish  little  coward,"  cried  Nell.  "It's  so 
splendid  of  you  all.  I  ought  to  glory  in  it,  but  I  can't. 
. . .  Fight  if  you  must,  Dick.  Fight  for  that  lovely  per 
secuted  girl.  I'll  love  you — the  more. . . .  Oh !  Good- 
by  !•  Good-by !" 

With  a  wrench  that  shook  him  Gale  let  her  go.  He 
heard  Belding's  soft  voice. 

"Yaqui  says  the  early  hour's  best.  Trust  him,  Laddy. 
Remember  what  I  say — Yaqui's  a  godsend." 

Then  they  were  all  outside  in  the  pale  gloom  under  the 
trees.  Yaqui  mounted  Blanco  Diablo;  Mercedes  was 
lifted  upon  White  Woman;  Thome  climbed  astride 
Queen ;  Jim  Lash  was  already  upon  his  horse,  which  was 
as  white  as  the  others  but  bore  no  name ;  Ladd  mounted 
the  stallion  Blanco  Torres,  and  gathered  up  the  long 
halters  of  the  two  pack  horses;  Gale  came  last  with 
Blanco  Sol. 

As  he  toed  the  stirrup,  hand  on  mane  and  nommel, 
Gale  took  one  more  look  in  at  the  door.  Nell  stood  in 
the  gleam  of  light,  her  hair  shining,  face  like  ashes,  her 
eyes  dark,  her  lips  parted,  her  arms  outstretched.  That 
sweet  and  tragic  picture  etched  its  cruel  outlines  into 
Gale's  heart.  He  waved  his  hand  and  then  fiercely 
leaped  into  the  saddle. 

Blanco  Sol  stepped  out. 

Before  Gale  stretched  a  line  of  moving  horses,  whits 
against  dark  shadows.  He  could  not  see  the  head  of 
that  column ;  he  scarcely  heard  a  soft  hoofbeat.  A  single 
star  shone  out  of  a  rift  in  thin  clouds.  There  was  no 
wind.  The  air  was  cold.  The  dark  space  of  desert  seemed 
to  yawn.  To  the  left  across  the  river  flickered  a  few 
campfires.  The  chill  night,  silent  and  mystical,  seemed  to 
close  in  upon  Gale;  and  he  faced  the  wide,  quivering, 
black  level  with  keen  eyes  and  grim  intent,  and  an 
awakening  of  that  wild  rapture  which  came  like  a  spell  to 
him  in  the  open  desert. 


XI 

ACROSS  CACTUS  AND  LAVA 

BLANCO  SOL  showed  no  inclination  to  bend  his  head 
to  the  alfalfa  which  swished  softly  about  his  legs. 
Gale  felt  the  horse's  sensitive,  almost  human  alertness. 
Sol  knew  as  well  as  his  master  the  nature  of  that  flight. 

At  the  far  corner  of  the  field  Yaqui  halted,  and  slowly 
the  line  of  white  horses  merged  into  a  compact  mass. 
There  was  a  trail  here  leading  down  to  the  river.  The 
campfires  were  so  close  that  the  bright  blazes  could  be 
seen  in  movement,  and  dark  forms  crossed  in  front  of 
them.  Yaqui  slipped  out  of  his  saddle.  He  ran  his  hand 
over  Diablo's  nose  and  spoke  low,  and  repeated  this  action 
for  each  of  the  other  horses.  Gale  had  long  ceased  to 
question  the  strange  Indian's  behavior.  There  was  no 
explaining  or  understanding  many  of  his  manceuvers. 
But  the  results  of  them  were  always  thought-provoking. 
Gale  had  never  seen  horses  stand  so  silently  as  in  this  in 
stance;  no  stamp — no  champ  of  bit — no  toss  of  head — 
no  shake  of  saddle  or  pack — no  heave  or  snort !  It  seemed 
they  had  become  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the  Indian. 

Yaqui  moved  away  into  the  shadows  as  noiselessly  as 
if  he  were  one  of  them.  The  darkness  swallowed  him. 
He  had  taken  a  direction  parallel  with  the  trail.  Gale 
wondered  if  Yaqui  meant  to  try  to  lead  his  string  of  horses 
by  the  rebel  sentinels.  Ladd  had  his  head  bent  low,  his 
ear  toward  the  trail.  Jim's  long  neck  had  the  arch  of  a 
listening  deer.  Gale  listened,  too,  and  as  the  slow,  silent 
moments  went  by  his  faculty  of  hearing  grew  more  acute 
from  strain.  He  heard  Blanco  Sol  breathe ;  he  heard  the 

180 


ACROSS  CACTUS  AND  LAVA 

pound  of  his  own  heart ;  he  heard  the  silken  rustle  of  the 
alfalfa ;  he  heard  a  faint,  far-off  sound  of  voice,  like  a  lost 
echo.  Then  his  ear  seemed  to  register  a  movement  of 
air,  a  disturbance  so  soft  as  to  be  nameless.  Then  fol 
lowed  long,  silent  moments. 

Yaqui  appeared  as  he  had  vanished.  He  might  have 
been  part  of  the  shadows.  But  he  was  there.  He  started 
off  down  the  trail  leading  Diablo.  Again  the  white  line 
stretched  slowly  out.  Gale  fell  in  behind.  A  bench  of 
ground,  covered  with  sparse  greasewood,  sloped  gently 
down  to  the  deep,  wide  arroyo  of  Forlorn  River.  Blanco 
Sol  shied  a  few  feet  out  of  the  trail.  Peering  low  with 
keen  eyes,  Gale  made  out  three  objects — a  white  som 
brero,  a  blanket,  and  a  Mexican  lying  face  down.  7he 
Yaqui  had  stolen  upon  this  sentinel  like  a  silent  wind  of 
death.  Just  then  a  desert  coyote  wailed,  and  the  wild 
cry  fitted  the  darkness  and  the  Yaqui's  deed. 

Once  under  the  dark  lee  of  the  river  bank  Yaqui  caused 
another  halt,  and  he  disappeared  as  before.  It  seemed  to 
Gale  that  the  Indian  started  tb  cross  the  pale  level  sand- 
bed  of  the  river,  where  stones  stood  out  gray,  and  the 
darker  line  of  opposite  shore  was  visible.  But  he  van 
ished,  and  it  was  impossible  to  tell  whether  he  went  one 
way  or  another.  Moments  passed.  The  horses  held 
heads  up,  looked  toward  the  glimmering  campfires  and 
listened.  Gale  thrilled  with  the  meaning  of  it  all — the 
night — the  silence — the  flight — and  the  wonderful  Indian 
stealing  with  the  slow  inevitableness  of  doom  upon  another 
sentinel.  An  hour  passed  and  Gale  seemed  to  have  be 
come  deadened  to  all  sense  of  hearing.  There  were  no 
more  sounds  in  the  world.  The  desert  was  as  silent  as 
it  was  black.  Yet  again  came  that  strange  change  in 
the  tensity  of  Gale's  ear-strain,  a  check,  a  break,  a  vibra 
tion — and  this  time  the  sound  did  not  go  nameless.  It 
might  have  been  moan  of  wind  or  wail  of  far-distant  wolf, 
but  Gale  imagined  it  was  the  strangling  death-cry  of 
another  guard,  or  that  strange,  involuntary  utterance  of 

181 


DESERT   GOLD 

the  Yaqui.  Blanco  Sol  trembled  in  all  his  great  frame, 
and  then  Gale  was  certain  the  sound  was  not  imagination. 

That  certainty,  once  for  all,  fixed  in  Gale's  mind  the 
mood  of  his  flight.  The  Yaqui  dominated  the  horses  and 
the  rangers.  Thome  and  Mercedes  were  as  persons  under 
a  spell.  The  Indian's  strange  silence,  the  feeling  of  mys 
tery  and  power  he  seemed  to  create,  all  that  was  incom 
prehensible  about  him  were  emphasized  in  the  light  of 
his  slow,  sure,  and  ruthless  action.  If  he  dominated  the 
others,  surely  he  did  more  for  Gale — colored  his  thoughts 
— presaged  the  wild  and  terrible  future  of  that  flight.  If 
Rojas  embodied  all  the  hatred  and  passion  of  the  peon 
— scourged  slave  for  a  thousand  years — then  Yaqui  em 
bodied  all  the  darkness,  the  cruelty,  the  white,  sun- 
heated  blood,  the  ferocity,  the  tragedy  of  the  desert. 

Suddenly  the  Indian  stalked  out  of  the  gloom.  He 
mounted  Diablo  and  headed  across  the  river.  Once  more 
the  line  of  moving  white  shadows  stretched  out.  The 
soft  sand  gave  forth  no  sound  at  all.  The  glimmering 
campfires  sank  behind  the  western  bank.  Yaqui  led  the 
way  into  the  willows,  and  there  was  faint  swishing  of 
leaves;  then  into  the  mesquite,  and  there  was  faint  rust 
ling  of  branches.  The  glimmering  lights  appeared  again, 
and  grotesque  forms  of  saguaros  loomed  darkly.  Gale 
peered  sharply  along  the  trail,  and,  presently,  on  the  pale 
sand  under  a  cactus,  there  lay  a  blanketed  form,  prone, 
outstretched,  a  carbine  clutched  in  one  hand,  a  cigarette, 
still  burning,  in  the  other. 

The  cavalcade  of  white  horses  passed  within  five  hun 
dred  yards  of  campfires,  around  which  dark  forms  moved 
in  plain  sight.  Soft  pads  in  sand,  faint  metallic  tickings 
of  steel  on  thorns,  low,  regular  breathing  of  horses — these 
were  all  the  sounds  the  fugitives  made,  and  they  could 
not  have  been  heard  at  one-fifth  the  distance.  The 
lights  disappeared  from  time  to  time,  grew  dimmer,  more 
flickering,  and  at  last  they  vanished  altogether.  Beld- 
ing's  fleet  and  tireless  steeds  were  out  in  front ;  the  desert 

182 


ACROSS  CACTUS  AND  LAVA 

opened  ahead  wide,  dark,  vast.  Rojas  and  his  rebels 
were  behind,  eating,  drinking,  careless.  The  somber 
shadow  lifted  from  Gale's  heart.  He  held  now  an  un 
quenchable  faith  in  the  Yaqui.  Belding  would  be  lis 
tening  back  there  along  the  river.  He  would  know  of  the 
escape.  He  would  tell  Nell,  and  then  hide  her  safely. 
As  Gale  had  accepted  a  strange  and  fatalistic  foreshadow 
ing  of  toil,  blood,  and  agony  in  this  desert  journey,  so  he 
believed  in  Mercedes's  ultimate  freedom  and  happiness, 
and  his  own  return  to  the  girl  who  had  grown  dearer  than 
life. 

A  cold,  gray  dawn  was  fleeing  before  a  rosy  sun  when 
Yaqui  halted  the  march  at  Papago  Well.  The  horses 
were  taken  to  water,  then  led  down  the  arroyo  into  the 
grass.  Here  packs  were  slipped,  saddles  removed.  Mer 
cedes  was  cold,  lame,  tired,  but  happy.  It  warmed  Gale's 
blood  to  look  at  her.  The  shadow  of  fear  still  lay  in  her 
eyes,  but  it  was  passing.  Hope  and  courage  shone  there, 
and  affection  for  her  ranger  protectors  and  the  Yaqui, 
and  unutterable  love  for  the  cavalryman.  Jim  Lash  re 
marked  how  cleverly  they  had  fooled  the  rebels. 

"Shore  they'll  be  comin'  along,"  replied  Ladd. 

They  built  a  fire,  cooked  and  ate.  The  Yaqui  spoke 
only  one  word:  "Sleep."  Blankets  were  spread.  Mer 
cedes  dropped  into  a  deep  slumber,  her  head  on  Thome's 
shoulder.  Excitement  kept  Thorne  awake.  The  two 
rangers  dozed  beside  the  fire.  Gale  shared  the  Yaqui's 
watch.  The  sun  began  to  climb  and  the  icy  edge  of  dawn 
to  wear  away.  Rabbits  bobbed  their  cotton  tails  under 
the  mesquite.  Gale  climbed  a  rocky  wall  above  the 
arroyo  bank,  and  there,  with  command  over  the  miles 
of  the  back-trail,  he  watched. 

It  was  a  sweeping,  rolling,  wrinkled,  and  streaked  range 
of  desert  that  he  saw,  ruddy  in  the  morning  sunlight,  with 
patches  of  cactus  and  mesquite  rough-etched  in  shimmer 
ing  gloom.  No  Name  Mountains  split  tb*»  eastern  sky. 


DESERT   GOLD 

towering  high,  gloomy,  grand,  with  purple  veils  upon 
their  slopes.  They  were  forty  miles  away  and  looked  five. 
Gale  thought  of  the  girl  who  was  there  under  their  shadow. 

Yaqui  kept  the  horses  bunched,  and  he  led  them  from 
one  little  park  of  galleta  grass  to  another.  At  the  end  of 
three  hours  he  took  them  to  water.  Upon  his  return  Gale 
clambered  down  from  his  outlook,  the  rangers  grew  active, 
Mercedes  was  awakened ;  and  soon  the  party  faced  west 
ward,  their  long  shadows  moving  before  them.  Yaqui 
led  with  Blanco  Diablo  in  a  long,  easy  lope.  The  arroyo 
washed  itself  out  into  flat  desert,  and  the  greens  began 
to  shade  into  gray,  and  then  the  gray  into  red.  Only 
sparse  cactus  and  weathered  ledges  dotted  the  great  low 
roll  of  a  rising  escarpment.  Yaqui  suited  the  gait  of  his 
horse  to  the  lay  of  the  land,  and  his  followers  accepted  his 
pace.  There  were  canter  and  trot,  and  swift  walk  and 
slow  climb,  and  long  swing — miles  up  and  down  and  for 
ward.  The  sun  soared  hot.  The  heated  air  lifted,  and 
incoming  currents  from  the  west  swept  low  and  hard  over 
the  barren  earth.  In  the  distance,  all  around  the  horizon, 
accumulations  of  dust  seemed  like  ranging,  mushrooming 
yellow  clouds. 

Yaqui  was  the  only  one  of  the  fugitives  who  never 
looked  back.  Mercedes  did  it  the  most.  Gale  felt  what 
compelled  her,  he  could  not  resist  it  himself.  But  it  was 
a  vain  search.  For  a  thousand  puffs  of  white  and  yellow 
dust  rose  from  that  backward  sweep  of  desert,  and  any 
one  of  them  might  have  been  blown  from  under  horses' 
hoofs.  Gale  had  a  conviction  that  when  Yaqui  gazed 
back  toward  the  well  and  the  shining  plain  beyond,  there 
would  be  reason  for  it.  But  when  the  sun  lost  its  heat 
and  the  wind  died  down  Yaqui  took  long  and  careful  sur 
veys  westward  from  the  high  points  on  the  trail.  Sunset 
was  not  far  off,  and  there  in  a  bare,  spotted  valley  lay 
Coyote  Tanks,  the  only  wr.terhole  between  Papago  Well 
and  the  Sonoyta  Oasis.  Gale  used  his  glass,  told  Yaqui 
there  was  no  smoke,  no  sign  of  life ;  still  the  Indian  fixed 

184 


ACROSS  CACTUS  AND  LAVA 

his  falcon  eyes  on  distant  spots  and  looked  long.  It  was 
as  if  his  vision  could  not  detect  what  reason  or  cunning, 
or  intuition,  perhaps  an  instinct,  told  him  was  there. 
Presently  in  a  sheltered  spot,  where  blown  sand  had  not 
obliterated  the  trail,  Yaqui  found  the  tracks  of  horses. 
The  curve  of  the  iron  shoes  pointed  westward.  An  in 
tersecting  trail  from  the  north  came  in  here.  Gale  thought 
the  tracks  either  one  or  two  days  old.  Ladd  said  they 
were  one  day.  The  Indian  shook  his  head. 

No  farther  advance  was  undertaken.  The  Yaqui 
headed  south  and  traveled  slowly,  climbing  to  the  brow 
of  a  bold  height  of  weathered  mesa.  There  he  sat  his 
horse  and  waited.  No  one  questioned  him.  The  rangers 
dismounted  to  stretch  their  legs,  and  Mercedes  was  lifted 
to  a  rock,  where  she  rested.  Thorne  had  gradually  yielded 
to  the  desert's  influence  for  silence.  He  spoke  once  or 
twice  to  Gale,  and  occasionally  whispered  to  Mercedes. 
Gale  fancied  his  friend  would  soon  learn  that  necessary 
speech  in  desert  travel  meant  a  few  greetings,  a  few 
words  to  make  real  the  fact  of  human  companionship, 
a  few  short,  terse  terms  for  the  business  of  day  or 
night,  and  perhaps  a  stern  order  or  a  soft  call  to  a 
horse. 

The  sun  went  down,  and  the  golden,  rosy  veils  turned 
to  blue  and  shaded  darker  till  twilight  was  there  in  the 
valley.  Only  the  spurs  of  mountains,  spiring  the  near  and 
far  horizon,  retained  their  clear  outline.  Darkness  ap 
proached,  and  the  clear  peaks  faded.  The  horses  stamped 
to  be  on  the  move. 

"Malo!"  exclaimed  the  Yaqui. 

He  did  not  point  with  arm,  but  his  falcon  head  was 
outstretched,  and  his  piercing  eyes  gazed  at  the  blurring 
spot  which  marked  the  location  of  Coyote  Tanks. 

"Jim,  can  you  see  anything?''  asked  Ladd. 

"Nope,  but  I  reckon  he  can." 

Darkness  increased  momentarily  till  night  shaded  the 
part  of  the  valley. 


DESERT   GOLD 

Then  Ladd  suddenly  straightened  up,  turned  to  his 
horse,  and  muttered  low  under  his  breath. 

"I  reckon  so,"  said  Lash,  and  for  once  his  easy, 
good-natured  tone  was  not  in  evidence.  His  voice  was 
harsh. 

Gale's  eyes,  keen  as  they  were,  were  last  of  the  rangers 
to  see  tiny  needle-points  of  light  just  faintly  perceptible 
in  the  blackness. 

"Laddy !  Campfires  ?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

"Shore's  you're  born,  my  boy." 

"How  many?" 

Ladd  did  not  reply;  but  Yaqui  held  up  his  hand,  his 
fingers  wide.  Five  campfires !  A  strong  force  of  rebels 
or  raiders  or  some  other  desert  troop  was  camping  at 
Coyote  Tanks. 

Yaqui  sat  his  horse  for  a  moment,  motionless  as  stone, 
his  dark  face  immutable  and  impassive.  Then  he 
stretched  wide  his  right  arm  in  the  direction  of  No  Name 
Mountains,  now  losing  their  last  faint  traces  of  the  after 
glow,  and  he  shook  his  head.  He  made  the  same  im 
pressive  gesture  toward  the  Sonoyta  Oasis  with  the  same 
somber  negation. 

Thereupon  he  turned  Diablo's  head  to  the  south  and 
started  down  the  slope.  His  manner  had  been  decisive, 
even  stern.  Lash  did  not  question  it,  nor  did  Ladd. 
Both  rangers  hesitated,  however,  and  showed  a  strange, 
almost  a  sullen  reluctance  which  Gale  had  never  seen  in 
them  before.  Raiders  were  one  thing,  Rojas  was  an 
other;  Camino  del  Diablo  still  another;  but  that  vast 
and  desolate  and  unwatered  waste  of  cactus  and  lava, 
the  Sonora  Desert,  might  appall  the  stoutest  heart.  Gale 
felt  his  own  sink — felt  himself  flinch. 

"Oh,  where  is  he  going?"  cried  Mercedes.  Her  poig 
nant  voice  seemed  to  break  a  spell. 

"Shore,  lady,  Yaqui's  goin*  home,"  replied  Ladd  gen 
tly.  "An*  considerin*  our  troubles  I  reckon  we  ought  to 
thank  God  he  knows  the  way." 

186 


ACROSS  CACTUS  AND  LAVA 

They  mounted  and  rode  down  the  slope  toward  the 
darkening  south. 

Not  until  night  travel  was  obstructed  by  a  wall  of 
cactus  did  the  Indian  halt  to  make  a  dry  camp.  Water 
and  grass  for  the  horses  and  fire  to  cook  by  were  not  to 
be  had.  Mercedes  bore  up  surprisingly;  but  she  fell 
asleep  almost  the  instant  her  thirst  had  been  allayed. 
Thorne  laid  her  upon  a  blanket  and  covered  her.  The 
men  ate  and  drank.  Diablo  was  the  only  horse  that 
showed  impatience ;  but  he  was  angry,  and  not  in  distress. 
Blanco  Sol  licked  Gale's  hand  and  stood  patiently.  Many 
a  time  had  he  taken  his  rest  at  night  without  a  drink. 
Yaqui  again  bade  the  men  sleep.  Ladd  said  he  would 
take  the  early  watch ;  but  from  the  way  the  Indian  shook 
his  head  and  settled  himself  against  a  stone,  it  appeared 
if  Ladd  remained  awake  he  would  have  company.  Gale 
lay  down  weary  of  limb  and  eye.  He  heard  the  soft  thump 
of  hoofs,  the  sough  of  wind  in  the  cactus — then  no  more. 

When  he  awoke  there  was  bustle  and  stir  about  him. 
Day  had  not  yet  dawned,  and  the  air  was  freezing  cold. 
Yaqui  had  found  a  scant  bundle  of  greasewood  which 
served  to  warm  them  and  to  cook  breakfast.  Mercedes 
was  not  aroused  till  the  last  moment. 

Day  dawned  with  the  fugitives  in  the  saddle.  A 
picketed  wall  of  cactus  hedged  them  in,  yet  the  Yaqui 
made  a  tortuous  path,  that,  zigzag  as  it  might,  in  the 
main  always  headed  south.  It  was  wonderful  how  he 
slipped  Diablo  through  the  narrow  aisles  of  thorns,  saving 
the  horse  and  saving  himself.  The  others  were  torn  and 
clutched  and  held  and  stung.  The  way  was  a  flat,  sandy 
pass  between  low  mountain  ranges.  There  were  open 
spots  and  aisles  and  squares  of  sand ;  and  hedging  rows 
of  prickly  pear  and  the  huge  spider-legged  ocatillo  and 
hummocky  masses  of  clustered  bisnagi.  The  day  grew 
dry  and  hot.  A  fragrant  wind  blew  through  the  pass. 
Cactus  flowers  bloomed,  red  and  yellow  and  magenta 
The  sweet,  pale  Ajo  lily  gleamed  in  shady  corners. 


DESERT   GOLD 

Ten  miles  of  travel  covered  the  length  of  the  pass.  It 
opened  wide  upon  a  wonderful  scene,  an  arboreal  desert, 
dominated  by  its  pure  light  green,  yet  lined  by  many 
merging  colors.  And  it  rose  slowly  to  a  low  dim  and 
dark-red  zone  of  lava,  spurred,  peaked,  domed  by  volcano 
cones,  a  wild  and  ragged  region,  illimitable  as  the  horizon. 

The  Yaqui,  if  not  at  fault,  was  yet  uncertain.  His  fal 
con  eyes  searched  and  roved,  and  became  fixed  at  length 
at  the  southwest,  and  toward  this  he  turned  his  horse. 
The  great,  fluted  saguaros,  fifty,  sixty  feet  high,  raised 
columnal  forms,  and  their  branching  limbs  and  curving 
lines  added  a  grace  to  the  desert.  It  was  the  low-bushed 
cactus  that  made  the  toil  and  pain  of  travel.  Yet  these 
thorny  forms  were  beautiful. 

In  the  basins  between  the  ridges,  to  right  and  left  along 
the  floor  of  low  plains  the  mirage  glistened,  wavered, 
faded,  vanished — lakes  and  trees  and  clouds.  Inverted 
mountains  hung  suspended  in  the  lilac  air  and  faint 
tracery  of  white-walled  cities. 

At  noon  Yaqui  halted  the  cavalcade.  He  had  selected 
a  field  of  bisnagi  cactus  for  the  place  of  rest.  Presently 
his  reason  became  obvious.  With  long,  heavy  knife  he 
cut  off  the  tops  of  these  barrel-shaped  plants.  He  scooped 
out  soft  pulp,  and  with  stone  and  hand  then  began  to 
pound  the  deeper  pulp  into  a  juicy  mass.  When  he 
threw  this  out  there  was  a  little  water  left,  sweet,  cool 
water  which  man  and  horse  shared  eagerly.  Thus  he 
made  even  the  desert's  fiercest  growths  minister  to  their 
needs. 

But  he  did  not  halt  long.  Miles  of  gray-green  spiked 
walls  lay  between  him  and  that  line  of  ragged,  red  lava 
which  manifestly  he  must  reach  before  dark.  The  travel 
became  faster,  straighten  And  the  glistening  thorns 
clutched  and  clung  to  leather  and  cloth  and  flesh.  The 
horses  reared,  snorted,  balked,  leaped — but  they  were 
sent  on.  Only  Blanco  Sol,  the  patient,  the  plodding,  the 
indomitable,  needed  no  goad  or  spur.  Waves  and  scarfs 

188 


ACROSS  CACTUS  AND  LAVA 

and  wreaths  of  heat  smoked  up  from  the  sand.  Mer 
cedes  reeled  in  her  saddle.  Thorne  bade  her  drink, 
bathed  her  face,  supported  her,  and  then  gave  way  to 
Ladd,  who  took  the  girl  with  him  on  Torres's  broad  back. 
Yaqui's  unflagging  purpose  and  iron  arm  were  bitter  and 
hateful  to  the  proud  and  haughty  spirit  of  Blanco  Diablo. 
For  once  Belding's  great  white  devil  had  met  his  master. 
He  fought  rider,  bit,  bridle,  cactus,  sand — and  yet  he 
went  on  and  on,  zigzagging,  turning,  winding,  crashing 
through  the  barbed  growths.  The  middle  of  the  after 
noon  saw  Thorne  reeling  in  his  saddle,  and  then,  wher 
ever  possible,  Gale's  powerful  arm  lent  him  strength  to 
hold  his  seat. 

The  giant  cactus  came  to  be  only  so  in  name.  These 
saguaros  were  thinning  out,  growing  stunted,  and  most  of 
them  were  single  columns.  Gradually  other  cactus  forms 
showed  a  harder  struggle  for  existence,  and  the  spaces 
of  sand  between  were  wider.  But  now  the  dreaded, 
glistening  choya  began  to  show  pale  and  gray  and  white 
upon  the  rising  slope.  Round-topped  hills,  sunset- 
colored  above,  blue-black  below,  intervened  to  hide  the 
distant  spurs  and  peaks.  Mile  and  mile  long  tongues  of 
red  lava  streamed  out  between  the  hills  and  wound  down 
to  stop  abruptly  upon  the  slope. 

The  fugitives  were  entering  a  desolate,  burned-out 
world.  It  rose  above  them  in  limitless,  gradual  ascent 
and  spread  wide  to  east  and  west.  Then  the  waste  of 
sand  began  to  yield  to  cinders.  The  horses  sank  to  their 
fetlocks  as  they  toiled  on.  A  fine,  choking  dust  blew 
back  from  the  leaders,  and  men  coughed  and  horses 
snorted.  The  huge,  round  hills  rose  smooth,  symmetri 
cal,  colored  as  if  the  setting  sun  was  shining  on  bare, 
blue-black  surfaces.  But  the  sun  was  now  behind  the 
hills.  In  between  ran  the  streams  of  lava.  The  horse 
men  skirted  the  edge  between  slope  of  hill  and  perpendic 
ular  ragged  wall.  This  red  lava  seemed  to  have  flowed 
and  hardened  there  only  yesterday.  It  was  broken, 

189 


DESERT   GOLD 

sharp,  dull  rust  color,  full  of  cracks  and  caves  and 
crevices,  and  everywhere  upon  its  jagged  surface  grew 
the  white-thorned  choya. 

Again  twilight  encompassed  the  travelers.  But  there 
was  still  light  enough  for  Gale  to  see  the  constricted 
passage  open  into  a  wide,  deep  space  where  the  dull  color 
was  relieved  by  the  gray  of  gnarled  and  dwarfed  mes- 
quite.  Blanco  Sol,  keenest  of  scent,  whistled  his  welcome 
herald  of  water.  The  other  horses  answered,  quickened 
their  gait.  Gale  smelled  it,  too,  sweet,  cool,  damp  on 
the  dry  air. 

Yaqui  turned  the  corner  of  a  pocket  in  the  lava  wall. 
The  file  of  white  horses  rounded  the  corner  after  him. 
And  Gale,  coming  last,  saw  the  pale,  glancing  gleam  of  a 
pool  of  water  beautiful  in  the  twilight. 

Next  day  the  Yaqui's  relentless  driving  demand  on  the 
horses  was  no  longer  in  evidence.  He  lost  no  time,  but 
he  did  not  hasten.  His  course  wound  between  low  cinder 
dunes  which  limited  their  view  of  the  surrounding  country. 
These  dunes  finally  sank  down  to  a  black  floor  as  hard  as 
fKnt  with  tongues  of  lava  to  the  left,  and  to  the  right  the 
slow  descent  into  the  cactus  plain.  Yaqui  was  now 
traveling  due  west.  It  was  Gale's  idea  that  the  Indian 
was  skirting  the  first  sharp-toothed  slope  of  a  vast  vol 
canic  plateau  which  formed  the  western  half  of  the  Sonora 
Desert  and  extended  to  the  Gulf  of  California.  Travel 
was  slow,  but  not  exhausting  for  rider  or  beast.  A  little 
sand  and  meager  grass  gave  a  grayish  tinge  to  the  strip 
of  black  ground  between  lava  and  plain. 

That  day,  as  the  manner  rather  than  the  purpose  of  the 
Yaqui  changed,  so  there  seemed  to  be  subtle  differences 
in  the  others  of  the  party.  Gale  himself  lost  a  certain 
sickening  dread,  which  had  not  been  for  himself,  but  for 
Mercedes  and  Nell,  and  Thorne  and  the  rangers.  Jim, 
good-natured  again,  might  have  been  patrolling  the  bound 
ary  line.  Ladd  lost  his  taciturnity  and  his  gloom  change 

190 


ACROSS  CACTUS  AND  LAVA 

to  a  cool,  careless  air.  A  mood  that  was  almost  defiance 
began  to  be  manifested  in  Thorne.  It  was  in  Mercedes, 
however,  that  Gale  marked  the  most  significant  change. 
Her  collapse  the  preceding  day  might  never  have  been. 
She  was  lame  and  sore;  she  rode  her  saddle  sidewise, 
and  often  she  had  to  be  rested  and  helped ;  but  she  had 
found  a  reserve  fund  of  strength,  and  her  mental  condi 
tion  was  not  the  same  that  it  had  been.  Her  burden  of 
fear  had  been  lifted.  Gale  saw  in  her  the  difference  he 
always  felt  in  himself  after  a  few  days  in  the  desert. 
Already  Mercedes  and  he,  and  all  of  them,  had  begun  to 
respond  to  the  desert  spirit.  Moreover,  Yaqui's  strange 
influence  must  have  been  a  call  to  the  primitive. 

Thirty  miles  of  easy  stages  brought  the  fugitives  to 
another  waterhole,  a  little  round  pocket  under  the 
heaved-up  edge  of  lava.  There  was  spare,  short,  bleached 
grass  for  the  horses,  but  no  wood  for  a  fire.  This  night 
there  were  question  and  reply,  conjecture,  doubt,  opinion, 
and  conviction  expressed  by  the  men  of  the  party.  But 
the  Indian,  who  alone  could  have  told  where  they  were, 
where  they  were  going,  what  chance  they  had  to  escape, 
maintained  his  stoical  silence.  Gale  took  the  early 
watch,  Ladd  the  midnight  one,  and  Lash  that  of  the 
morning. 

The  day  broke  rosy,  glorious,  cold  as  ice.  Action  was 
necessary  to  make  useful  benumbed  hands  and  feet. 
Mercedes  was  fed  while  yet  wrapped  in  blankets.  Then, 
while  the  packs  were  being  put  on  and  horses  saddled,  she 
walked  up  and  down,  slapping  her  hands,  warming  her 
ears.  The  rose  color  of  the  dawn  was  in  her  cheeks,  and 
the  wonderful  clearness  of  desert  light  in  her  eyes. 
Thome's  eyes  sought  her  constantly.  The  rangers  watched 
her.  The  Yaqui  bent  his  glance  upon  her  only  seldom ;  but 
when  he  did  look  it  seemed  that  his  strange,  fixed,  and 
inscrutable  face  was  about  to  break  into  a  smile.  Yet 
that  never  happened.  Gale  himself  was  surprised  to  find 
how  often  his  own  glance  found  the  slender,  dark,  beau- 

191 


DESERT   GOLD 

ttful  Spaniard.  Was  this  because  of  her  beauty?  he  won 
dered.  He  thought  not  altogether.  Mercedes  was  a 
woman.  She  represented  something  in  life  that  men  of 
all  races  for  thousands  of  years  had  loved  to  see  and 
own,  to  revere  and  debase,  to  fight  and  die  for. 

It  was  a  significant  index  to  the  day's  travel  that  Yaqui 
should  keep  a  blanket  from  the  pack  and  tear  it  into 
strips  to  bind  the  legs  of  the  horses.  It  meant  the  dreaded 
choya  and  the  knife-edged  lava.  That  Yaqui  did  not 
mount  Diablo  was  still  more  significant.  Mercedes  must 
ride;  but  the  others  must  walk. 

The  Indian  led  off  into  one  of  the  gray  notches  between 
the  tumbled  streams  of  lava.  These  streams  were  about 
thirty  feet  high,  a  rotting  mass  of  splintered  lava,  rougher 
than  any  other  kind  of  roughness  in  the  world.  At  the 
apex  of  the  notch,  where  two  streams  met,  a  narrow  gully 
wound  and  ascended.  Gale  caught  sight  of  the  dim, 
pale  shadow  of  a  one-time  trail.  Near  at  hand  it  was  in 
visible  ;  he  had  to  look  far  ahead  to  catch  the  faint  tracery. 
Yaqui  led  Diablo  into  it,  and  then  began  the  most  laborious 
and  vexatious  and  painful  of  all  slow  travel. 

Once  up  on  top  of  that  lava  bed,  Gale  saw  stretching- 
away,  breaking  into  millions  of  crests  and  ruts,  a  vast, 
red-black  field  sweeping  onward  and  upward,  with  rag 
ged,  low  ridges  and  mounds  and  spurs  leading  higher 
and  higher  to  a  great,  split  escarpment  wall,  above  which 
dim  peaks  shone  hazily  blue  in  the  distance. 

He  looked  no  more  in  that  direction.  To  keep  his  foot 
hold,  to  save  his  horse,  cost  him  all  energy  and  attention. 
The  course  was  marked  out  for  him  in  the  tracks  of  the 
other  horses.  He  had  only  to  follow.  But  nothing  could 
have  been  more  difficult.  The  disintegrating  surface  of 
a  lava  bed  was  at  once  the  roughest,  the  hardest,  the 
meanest,  the  crudest,  the  most  deceitful  kind  of  ground 
to  travel. 

It  was  rotten,  yet  it  had  corners  as  hard  and  sharp  as 
pikes.  It  was  rough,  yet  as  slippery  as  ice.  If  there  was 

192 


ACROSS  CACTUS  AND  LAVA 

a  foot  of  level  surface,  that  space  would  be  one  to  break 
through  under  a  horse's  hoofs.  It  was  seamed,  lined, 
cracked,  ridged,  knotted  iron.  This  lava  bed  resembled 
a  tremendously  magnified  clinker.  It  had  been  a  running 
sea  of  molten  flint,  boiling,  bubbling,  spouting,  and  it  had 
burst  its  surface  into  a  million  sharp  facets  as  it  hardened. 
The  color  was  dull,  dark,  angry  red,  like  no  other  red, 
inflaming  to  the  eye.  The  millions  of  minute  crevices 
were  dominated  by  deep  fissures  and  holes,  ragged  and 
rough  beyond  all  comparison. 

The  fugitives  made  slow  progress.  They  picked  a 
cautious,  winding  way  to  and  fro  in  little  steps  here  and 
there  along  the  many  twists  of  the  trail,  up  and  down  the 
unavoidable  depressions,  round  and  round  the  holes.  At 
noon,  so  winding  back  upon  itself  had  been  their  course, 
they  appeared  to  have  come  only  a  short  distance  up  the 
lava  slope. 

It  was  rough  work  for  them ;  it  was  terrible  work  foi 
the  horses.  Blanco  Diablo  refused  to  answer  to  the  powet 
of  the  Yaqui.  He  balked,  he  plunged,  he  bit  and  kicked. 
He  had  to  be  pulled  and  beaten  over  many  places.  Mer 
cedes's  horse  almost  threw  her,  and  she  was  put  upon 
Blanco  Sol.  The  white  charger  snorted  a  protest,  then, 
obedient  to  Gale's  stern  call,  patiently  lowered  his  noble 
head  and  pawed  the  lava  for  a  footing  that  would  hold. 

The  lava  caused  Gale  toil  and  worry  and  pain,  but  he 
hated  the  choyas.  As  the  travel  progressed  this  species 
of  cactus  increased  in  number  of  plants  and  in  size. 
Everywhere  the  red  lava  was  spotted  with  little  round 
patches  of  glistening  frosty  white.  And  under  every 
bunch  of  choya,  along  and  in  the  trail,  were  the  discarded 
joints,  like  little  frosty  pine  cones  covered  with  spines. 
It  was  utterly  impossible  always  to  be  on  the  lookout  for 
these,  and  when  Gale  stepped  on  one,  often  as  not  the 
steel-like  thorns  pierced  leather  and  flesh.  Gale  came  al 
most  to  believe  what  he  had  heard  claimed  by  desert 
travelers — that  the  choya  was  alive  and  leaped  at  man  or 

193 


DESERT   GOLD 

beast.  Certain  it  was  when  Gale  passed  one,  if  he  did 
not  put  all  attention  to  avoiding  it,  he  was  hooked  through 
his  chaps  and  held  by  barbed  thorns.  The  pain  was  al 
most  unendurable.  It  was  like  no  other.  It  burned, 
stung,  beat — almost  seemed  to  freeze.  It  made  useless 
arm  or  leg.  It  made  him  bite  his  tongue  to  keep  from 
crying  out.  It  made  the  sweat  roll  off  him.  It  made 
him  sick. 

Moreover,  bad  as  the  choya  was  for  man,  it  was  in 
finitely  worse  for  beast.  A  jagged  stab  from  this  poisoned 
cactus  was  the  only  thing  Blanco  Sol  could  not  stand. 
Many  times  that  day,  before  he  carried  Mercedes,  he  had 
wildly  snorted,  and  then  stood  trembling  while  Gale 
picked  broken  thorns  from  the  muscular  legs.  But  after 
Mercedes  had  been  put  upon  Sol  Gale  made  sure  no 
choya  touched  him. 

The  afternoon  passed  like  the  morning,  in  ceaseless 
winding  and  twisting  and  climbing  along  this  abandoned 
trail.  Gale  saw  many  waterholes,  mostly  dry,  some  con 
taining  water,  all  of  them  catch-basins,  full  only  after 
rainy  season.  Little  ugly  bunched  bushes,  that  Gale 
scarcely  recognized  as  mesquites,  grew  near  these  holes ; 
also  stunted  greasewood  and  prickly  pear.  There  was  no 
grass,  and  the  choya  alone  flourished  in  that  hard  soil. 

Darkness  overtook  the  party  as  they  unpacked  beside 
a  pool  of  water  deep  under  an  overhanging  shelf  of  lava. 
It  had  been  a  hard  day.  The  horses  drank  their  fill,  and 
then  stood  patiently  with  drooping  heads.  Hunger  and 
thirst  were  appeased,  and  a  warm  fire  cheered  the  weary 
and  foot-sore  fugitives.  Yaqui  said,  "Sleep."  And  so 
another  night  passed. 

Upon  the  following  morning,  ten  miles  or  more  up  the 
slow-ascending  lava  slope,  Gale's  attention  was  called 
from  his  somber  search  for  the  less  rough  places  in  the 
trail. 

"Dick,  why  does  Yaqui  look  back?"  asked  Mercedes. 

194 


ACROSS  CACTUS  AND  LAVA 

Gale  was  startled.1 

"Does  he?" 

"Every  little  while,"  replied  Mercedes. 

Gale  was  in  the  rear  of  all  the  other  horses,  so  as  to 
take,  for  Mercedes's  sake,  the  advantage  of  the  broken 
trail.  Yaqui  was  leading  Diablo,  winding  around  a  break. 
His  head  was  bent  as  he  stepped  slowly  and  unevenly 
upon  the  lava.  Gale  turned  to  look  back,  the  first  time  in 
several  days.  The  mighty  hollow  of  the  desert  below 
seemed  wide  strip  of  red — wide  strip  of  green — wide 
strip  of  gray — streaking  to  purple  peaks.  It  was  all  too 
vast,  too  mighty  to  grasp  any  little  details.  He  thought, 
of  course,  of  Rojas  in  certain  pursuit ;  but  it  seemed  ab 
surd  to  look  for  him. 

Yaqui  led  on,  and  Gale  often  glanced  up  from  his  task 
to  watch  the  Indian.  Presently  he  saw  him  stop,  turn, 
and  look  back.  Ladd  did  likewise,  and  then  Jim  and 
Thorne.  Gale  found  the  desire  irresistible.  Thereafter 
he  often  rested  Blanco  Sol,  and  looked  back  the  while. 
He  had  his  field-glass,  but  did  not  choose  to  use  it. 

"Rojas  will  follow,"  said  Mercedes. 

Gale  regarded  her  in  amaze.  The.  tone  of  her  voice  had 
been  indefinable.  If  there  were  fear  then  he  failed  to 
detect  it.  She  was  gazing  back  down  the  colored  slope, 
and  something  about  her,  perhaps  the  steady,  falcon  gaze 
of  her  magnificent  eyes,  reminded  him  of  Yaqui. 

Many  times  during  the  ensuing  hour  the  Indian  faced 
about,  and  always  his  followers  did  likewise.  It  was  high 
noon,  with  the  sun  beating  hot  and  the  lava  radiating  heat, 
when  Yaqui  halted  for  a  rest.  The  place  selected  was  a 
ridge  of  lava,  almost  a  promontory,  considering  its  out 
look.  The  horses  bunched  here  and  drooped  their  heads. 
The  rangers  were  about  to  slip  the  packs  and  remove 
saddles  when  Yaqui  restrained  them. 

He  fixed  a  changeless,  gleaming  gaze  on  the  slow  de 
scent  ;  but  did  not  seem  to  look  afar. 

Suddenly  he  uttered  his  strange  cry — the  one  Gale  con- 

195 


DESERT   GOLD 

sidered  involuntary,  or  else  significant  of  some  tribal 
trait  or  feeling.  It  was  incomprehensible,  but  no  one 
could  have  doubted  its  potency.  Yaqui  pointed  down 
the  lava  slope,  pointing  with  finger  and  arm  and  neck  and 
head — his  whole  body  was  instinct  with  direction.  His 
whole  being  seemed  to  have  been  animated  and  then 
frozen.  His  posture  could  not  have  been  misunderstood, 
yet  his  expression  had  not  altered.  Gale  had  never  seen 
the  Indian's  face  change  its  hard,  red-bronze  calm.  It 
was  the  color  and  the  flintiness  and  the  character  of  the 
lava  at  his  feet. 

"Shore  he  sees  somethin',"  said  Ladd.  "But  my  eyes 
are  no  good." 

"I  reckon  I  ain't  sure  of  mine,"  replied  Jim.  "I'm 
bothered  by  a  dim  movin'  streak  down  there." 

Thorne  gazed  eagerly  down  as  he  stood  beside  Mer 
cedes,  who  sat  motionless  facing  the  slope.  Gale  looked 
and  looked  till  he  hurt  his  eyes.  Then  he  took  his  glass 
put  of  its  case  on  Sol's  saddle. 

There  appeared  to  be  nothing  upon  the  lava  but  the 
innumerable  dots  of  choya  shining  in  the  sun.  Gale  swept 
his  glass  slowly  forward  and  back.  Then  into  a  nearer 
field  of  vision  crept  a  long  white-and-black  line  of  horses 
and  men.  Without  a  word  he  handed  the  glass  to  Ladd. 
The  ranger  used  it,  muttering  to  himself. 

"They're  on  the  lava  fifteen  miles  down  in  an  air  line," 
he  said,  presently.  "Jim,  shore  they're  twice  that  an* 
more  accordin'  to  the  trail." 

Jim  had  his  look  and  replied :  "I  reckon  we're  a  day  an' 
a  night  in  the  lead." 

"Is  it  Rojas?"  burst  out  Thorne,  with  set  jaw. 

"Yes,  Thorne.  It's  Rojas  and  a  dozen  men  or  more," 
replied  Gale,  and  he  looked  up  at  Mercedes. 

She  was  transformed.  She  might  have  been  a  medieval 
princess  embodying  all  the  Spanish  power  and  passion  of 
that  time,  breathing  revenge,  hate,  unquenchable  spirit 
of  fire.  If  her  beauty  had  been  wonderful  in  her  help- 

196 


ACROSS  CACTUS  AND  LAVA 

less  and  appealing  moments,  now,  when  she  looked  back 
white-faced  and  flame-eyed,  it  was  transcendant 

Gale  drew  a  long,  deep  breath.  The  mood  which  had 
presaged  pursuit,  strife,  blood  on  this  somber  desert, 
returned  to  him  tenfold.  He  saw  Thome's  face  corded 
by  black  veins,  and  his  teeth  exposed  like  those  of  a 
snacling  wolf.  These  rangers,  who  had  coolly  risked 
death  many  times,  and  had  dealt  it  often,  were  white 
as  no  fear  or  pain  could  have  made  them.  Then,  on  the 
moment,  Yaqui  raised  his  hand,  not  clenched  or  doubled 
tight,  but  curled  rigid  like  an  eagle's  claw ;  and  he  shook 
it  in  a  strange,  slow  gesture  which  was  menacing  and 
terrible. 

It  was  the  woman  that  called  to  the  depths  of  these 
men.  And  their  passion  to  kill  and  to  save  was  sur 
passed  only  by  the  wild  hate  which  was  yet  love,  the  un 
fathomable  emotion  of  a  peon  slave.  Gale  marveled  at 
it,  while  he  felt  his  whole  being  cold  and  tense,  as  he 
turned  once  more  to  follow  in  the  tracks  of  his  leaders. 
The  fight  predicted  by  Belding  was  at  hand.  What  a 
fight  that  must  be !  Rojas  was  traveling  light  and  fast. 
He  was  gaining.  He  had  bought  his  men  with  gold,  with 
extravagant  promises,  perhaps  with  offers  of  the  body 
and  blood  of  an  aristocrat  hateful  to  their  kind.  Lastly, 
there  was  the  wild,  desolate  environment,  a  tortured 
wilderness  of  jagged  lava  and  poisoned  choya,  a  lonely, 
fierce,  and  repellant  world,  a  red  stage  most  somberly  and 
fittingly  colored  for  a  supreme  struggle  between  men. 

Yaqui  looked  back  no  more.  Mercedes  looked  back 
no  more.  But  the  others  looked,  and  the  time  came  when 
Gale  saw  the  creeping  line  of  pursuers  with  naked  eyes. 

A  level  line  above  marked  the  rim  of  the  plateau.  Sand 
began  to  show  in  the  little  lava  pits.  On  and  upward 
toiled  the  cavalcade,  still  very  slowly  advancing.  At  last 
Yaqui  reached  the  rim.  He  stood  with  his  hand  on 
Blanco  Diablo;  and  both  were  silhouetted  against  the 
sky.  That  was  the  outlook  for  a  Yaqui.  And  his  gres.t 

197 


DESERT   GOLD 

horse,  dazzlingly  white  in  the  sunlight,  with  head  wildly 
and  proudly  erect,  mane  and  tail  flying  in  the  wind,  made 
a  magnificent  picture.  The  others  toiled  on  and  upward, 
and  at  last  Gale  led  Blanco  Sol  over  the  rim.  Then  all 
looked  down  the  red  slope. 

But  shadows  were  gathering  there  and  no  moving  line 
could  be  seen. 

Yaqui  mounted  and  wheeled  Diablo  away.  The  others 
followed.  Gale  saw  that  the  plateau  was  no  more  than 
a  vast  field  of  low,  ragged  circles,  levels,  mounds,  cones, 
and  whirls  of  lava.  The  lava  was  of  a  darker  red  than 
that  down  upon  the  slope,  and  it  was  harder  than  flint. 
In  places  fine  sand  and  cinders  covered  the  uneven  floor. 
Strange  varieties  of  cactus  vied  with  the  omnipresent 
choya.  Yaqui,  however,  found  ground  that  his  horse 
covered  at  a  swift  walk. 

But  there  was  only  an  hour,  perhaps,  of  this  com 
paratively  easy  going.  Then  the  Yaqui  led  them  into  a 
zone  of  craters.  The  top  of  the  earth  seemed  to  have 
been  blown  out  in  holes  from  a  few  rods  in  width  to  large 
craters,  some  shallow,  others  deep,  and  all  red  as  fire. 
Yaqui  circled  close  to  abysses  which  yawned  sheer  from 
a  level  surface,  and  he  appeared  always  to  be  turning 
upon  his  course  to  avoid  them. 

The  plateau  had  now  a  considerable  dip  to  the  west. 
Gale  marked  the  slow  heave  and  ripple  of  the  ocean  of 
lava  to  the  south,  where  high,  rounded  peaks  marked  the 
center  of  this  volcanic  region.  The  uneven  nature  of  the 
slope  westward  prevented  any  extended  view,  until  sud 
denly  the  fugitives  emerged  from  a  rugged  break  to  come 
upon  a  sublime  and  awe-inspiring  spectacle. 

They  were  upon  a  high  point  of  the  western  slope  of 
the  plateau.  It  was  a  slope,  but  so  many  leagues  long  in 
its  descent  that  only  from  a  great  height  could  any  slant 
have  been  perceptible.  Ya  \  and  his  white  horse  stood 
upon  the  brink  of  a  crater  miles  in  circumference,  a  thou 
sand  feet  deep,  with  its  red  walls  patched  in  f rost-coloreci 

198 


ACROSS  CACTUS  AND  LAVA 

spots  by  the  silvery  choya.  The  giant  tracery  of  lava 
streams  waved  down  the  slope  to  disappear  in  undulating 
sand  dunes.  And  these  bordered  a  seemingly  endless 
arm  of  blue  sea.  This  was  the  Gulf  of  California.  Be 
yond  the  Gulf  rose  dim,  bold  mountains,  and  above  them 
hung  the  setting  sun,  dusky  red,  flooding  all  that  barren 
empire  with  a  sinister  light. 

It  was  strange  to  Gale  then,  and  perhaps  to  the  others, 
to  see  their  guide  lead  Diablo  into  a  smooth  and  well-worn 
trail  along  the  rim  of  the  awful  crater.  Gale  looked  down 
into  that  red  chasm.  It  resembled  an  inferno.  The  dark 
cliffs  upon  the  opposite  side  were  veiled  in  blue  haze  that 
seemed  like  smoke.  Here  Yaqui  was  at  home.  He 
moved  and  looked  about  him  as  a  man  coming  at  last 
into  his  own.  Gale  saw  him  stop  and  gaze  out  over  that 
red-ribbed  void  to  the  Gulf. 

Gale  divined  that  somewhere  along  this  crater  of  hell 
the  Yaqui  would  make  his  final  stand ;  and  one  look  into 
his  strange,  inscrutable  eyes  made  imagination  picture  a 
fitting  doom  for  the  pursuing  Rojas. 


XII 

THE  CRATER  OF  HELL 

THE  trail  led  along  a  gigantic  fissure  in  the  side  of 
the  crater,  and  then  down  and  down  into  a  red- 
walled,  blue-hazed  labyrinth. 

Presently  Gale,  upon  turning  a  sharp  corner,  was  ut 
terly  amazed  to  see  that  the  split  in  the  lava  sloped  out 
and  widened  into  an  arroyo.  It  was  so  green  and  soft 
and  beautiful  in  all  the  angry,  contorted  red  surrounding 
that  Gale  could  scarcely  credit  his  sight.  Blanco  Sol 
whistled  his  welcome  to  the  scent  of  water.  Then  Gale 
4aw  a  great  hole,  a  pit  in  the  shiny  lava,  a  dark,  cool, 
shady  well.  There  was  evidence  of  the  fact  that  at  flood 
seasons  the  water  had  an  outlet  into  the  arroyo.  The  soil 
appeared  to  be  a  fine  sand,  in  which  a  reddish  tinge  pre 
dominated;  and  it  was  abundantly  covered  with  a  long 
grass,  still  partly  green.  Mesquites  and  palo  verdes 
dotted  the  arroyo  and  gradually  closed  in  thickets  that 
obstructed  the  view. 

"Shore  it  all  beats  me,"  exclaimed  Ladd.  "What  a 
place  to  hole-up  in !  We  could  have  hid  here  for  a  long 
time.  Boys,  I  saw  mountain  sheep,  the  real  old  genu 
ine  Rocky  Mountain  bighorn.  What  do  you  think  of 
that?" 

"I  reckon  it's  a  Yaqui  hunting-ground,"  replied  Lash. 
"That  trail  we  hit  must  be  hundreds  of  years  old.  It's 
worn  deep  and  smooth  in  the  iron  lava." 

"Well,  all  I  got  to  say  is — Beldin'  was  shore  right  about 
the  Indian.  An'  I  can  see  Rojas's  finish  somewhere  up 
along  that  awful  hell-hole." 

200 


THE   CPATER  OF  HELL 

Camp  was  made  on  a  level  spot.  Yaqui  took  the  horses 
to  water,  and  then  turned  them  loose  in  the  arroyo.  It 
was  a  tired  and  somber  group  that  sat  down  to  eat.  The 
strain  of  suspense  equaled  the  wearing  effects  of  the  long 
ride.  Mercedes  was  calm,  but  her  great  dark  eyes  burned 
in  her  white  face.  Yaqui  watched  her.  The  others  looked 
at  her  with  unspoken  pride.  Presently  Thorne  wrapped 
her  in  his  blankets,  and  she  seemed  to  fall  asleep  at  once. 
Twilight  deepened.  The  campfire  blazed  brighter.  A 
cool  wind  played  with  Mercedes's  black  hair,  waving 
strands  across  her  brow. 

Little  of  Yaqui's  purpose  or  plan  could  be  elicited  from 
him.  But  the  look  of  him  was  enough  to  satisfy  even 
Thorne.  He  leaned  against  a  pile  of  wood,  which  he  had 
collected,  and  his  gloomy  gaze  pierced  the  campfire,  and 
at  long  intervals  strayed  over  the  motionless  form  of  the 
Spanish  girl. 

The  rangers  and  Thorne,  however,  talked  in  low  tones 
It  was  absolutely  impossible  for  Rojas  and  his  men  to 
reach  the  waterhole  before  noon  of  the  next  day.  And 
long  before  that  time  the  fugitives  would  have  decided 
on  a  plan  of  defense.  What  that  defense  would  be,  and 
where  it  would  be  made,  were  matters  over  which  the  men 
considered  gravely.  Ladd  averred  the  Yaqui  would  put 
them  into  an  impregnable  position,  that  at  the  same  time 
would  prove  a  death-trap  for  their  pursuers.  They  ex 
hausted  every  possibility,  and  then,  tired  as  they  were, 
still  kept  on  talking. 

"What  stuns  me  is  that  Rojas  stuck  to  our  trail," 
said  Thorne,  his  lined  and  haggard  face  expressive  of 
dark  passion.  "He  has  followed  us  into  this  fearful 
desert.  He'll  lose  men,  horses,  perhaps  his  life.  He's 
only  a  bandit,  and  he  stands  to  win  no  gold.  If  he 
ever  gets  out  of  here  it  Jll  be  by  herculean  labor  and 
by  terrible  iiardship.?  All  for  ,a  poor  ilittle  helpless 
woman — just  a  woman!  My  God,  I  can't  understand 
it" 

901 


DESERT  GOLD 

"Shore — just  a  woman,"  replied  Ladd,  solemnly  nod 
ding  his  head. 

Then  there  was  a  long  silence  during  which  the  men 
gazed  into  the  fire.  Each,  perhaps,  had  some  vague  con 
ception  of  the  enormity  of  Rojas's  love  or  hate — some 
faint  and  amazing  glimpse  of  the  gulf  of  human  passion. 
Those  were  cold,  hard,  grim  faces  upon  which  the  light 
flickered. 

"Sleep,"  said  the  Yaqui. 

Thorne  rolled  in  his  blanket  close  beside  Mercedes, 
Then  one  by  one  the  rangers  stretched  out,  feet  to  the 
fire.  Gale  found  that  he  could  not  sleep.  His  eyes  were 
weary,  but  they  would  not  stay  shut ;  his  body  ached  for 
rest,  yet  he  could  not  lie  still.  The  night  was  so  somber, 
so  gloomy,  and  the  lava-encompassed  arroyo  full  of  shad 
ows.  The  dark  velvet  sky,  fretted  with  white  fire,  seemed 
to  be  close.  There  was  an  absolute  silence,  as  of  death. 
Nothing  moved — nothing  outside  of  Gale's  body  appeared 
to  live.  The  Yaqui  sat  like  an  image  carved  out  of  lava, 
The  others  lay  prone  and  quiet.  Would  another  night 
see  any  of  them  lie  that  way,  quiet  forever?  Gale  felt  a 
ripple  pass  over  him  that  was  at  once  a  shudder  and  a 
contraction  of  muscles.  Used  as  he  was  to  the  desert 
and  its  oppression,  why  should  he  feel  to-night  as  if  the 
weight  of  its  lava  and  the  burden  of  its  mystery  were 
bearing  him  down? 

He  sat  up  after  a  while  and  again  watched  the  fire. 
Nell's  sweet  face  floated  like  a  wraith  in  the  pale  smoke 
— glowed  and  flushed  and  smiled  in  the  embers.  Other 
faces  shone  there — his  sister's — that  of  his  mother.  Gale 
shook  off  the  tender  memories.  This  desolate  wilderness 
with  its  forbidding  silence  and  its  dark  promise  of  hell 
on  the  morrow — this  was  not  the  place  to  unnerve  one 
self  with  thoughts  of  love  and  home.  But  the  torturing 
paradox  of  the  thing  was  that  this  was  just  the  place  and 
just  the  night  for  a  man  to  be  haunted. 

By  and  by  Gale  rose  and  walked  down  a  shadowy 
202 


THE   CRATER  OF  HELL 

aisle  between  the  mesquites.  On  his  way  back  the  Yaqti 
joined  him.  Gale  was  not  surprised.  He  had  become  used 
to  the  Indian's  strange  guardianship.  But  now,  perhaps  be 
cause  of  Gale's  poignancy  of  thought,  the  contending  tides 
of  love  and  regret,  the  deep,  burning  premonition  of  dead 
ly  strife,  he  was  moved  to  keener  scrutiny  of  the  YaquL 
That,  of  course,  was  futile.  The  Indian  was  impenetra 
ble,  silent,  strange.  But  suddenly,  inexplicably,  Gale  felt 
Yaqui's  human  quality.  It  was  aloof,  as  was  everything 
about  this  Indian;  but  it  was  there.  This  savage  walked 
silently  beside  him,  without  glance  or  touch  or  word. 
His  thought  was  as  inscrutable  as  if  mind  had  never 
awakened  in  his  race.  Yet  Gale  was  conscious  of  great 
ness,  and,  somehow,  he  was  reminded  of  the  Indian's 
story.  His  home  had  been  desolated,  his  people  carried 
off  to  slavery,  his  wife  and  children  separated  from  him 
to  die.  What  had  life  meant  to  the  Yaqui?  What  had 
been  in  his  heart?  What  was  now  in  his  mind?  Gale 
could  not  answer  these  questions.  But  the  difference  be- 
tween  himself  and  Yaqui,  which  he  had  vaguely  felt  as  that 
between  savages  and  civilized  men,  faded  out  of  his  mind 
forever.  Yaqui  might  have  considered  he  owed  Gale  a 
debt,  and,  with  a  Yaqui's  austere  and  noble  fidelity  to 
honor,  he  meant  to  pay  it.  Nevertheless,  this  was  not  the 
thing  Gale  found  in  the  Indian's  silent  presence.  Accept 
ing  the  desert  with  its  subtle  and  inconceivable  influence, 
Gale  felt  that  the  savage  and  the  white  man  had  been 
bound  in  a  tie  which  was  no  less  brotherly  because  it 
could  not  be  comprehended. 

Toward  dawn  Gale  managed  to  get  some  sleep.  Then 
the  morning  broke  with  the  sun  hidden  back  of  the  up 
lift  of  the  plateau.  The  horses  trooped  up  the  arroyo  and 
snorted  for  water.  After  a  hurried  breakfast  the  packs 
were  hidden  in  holes  in  the  lava.  The  saddles  were 
left  where  they  were,  and  the  horses  allowed  to  graze 
and  wander  at  will.  Canteens  were  filled,  a  small 
bag  of  food  was  packed,  and  blankets  made  into  a  bun» 


DESERT   GOLD 

die.     Then   Yaqui   faced  the   steep  ascent  of  the  lava 
slope. 

The  trail  he  followed  led  up  on  the  right  side  of  the 
fissure,  opposite  to  the  one  he  had  come  down.  It  was  a 
steep  climb,  and  encumbered  as  the  men  were  they  made 
but  slow  progress.  Mercedes  had  to  be  lifted  up  smooth 
steps  and  across  crevices.  They  passed  places  where  the 
rims  of  the  fissure  were  but  a  few  yards  apart.  At  length 
the  rims  widened  out  and  the  red,  smoky  crater  yawned 
beneath.  Yaqui  left  the  trail  and  began  clambering  down 
over  the  rough  and  twisted  convolutions  of  lava  which 
formed  the  rim.  Sometimes  he  hung  sheer  over  the 
precipice.  It  was  with  extreme  difficulty  that  the  party 
followed  hinic  Mercedes  had  to  be  held  on  narrow,  foot- 
wide  ledges.  The  choya  was  there  to  hinder  passage. 
Finall)  the  Indian  halted  upon  a  narrow  bench  of  flat, 
smooth  lava,  and  his  followers  worked  with  exceeding 
care  and  effort  down  to  his  position. 

At  the  back  of  this  bench,  between  bunches  of  choy\ 
was  a  niche,  a  shallow  cave  with  floor  lined  apparently 
with  mold.  Ladd  said  the  place  was  a  refuge  which  had 
been  inhabited  by  mountain  sheep  for  many  years.  Yaqui 
spread  blankets  inside,  left  the  canteen  and  the  sack  of 
food,  and  with  a  gesture  at  once  humble,  yet  that  of  a 
chief,  he  invited  Mercedes  to  enter.  A  few  more  gestures 
and  fewer  words  disclosed  his  plan.  In  this  inaccessible 
nook  Mercedes  was  to  be  hidden.  The  men  were  to  go 
around  upon  the  opposite  rim,  and  block  the  trail  leading 
down  to  the  waterhole. 

Gale  marked  the  nature  of  this  eyrie.  It  was  the  wild 
est  and  most  rugged  place  he  had  ever  stepped  upon. 
Only  a  sheep  could  have  climbed  up  the  wall  above  or 
along  the  slanting  shelf  of  lava  beyond.  Below  glistened 
a  whole  bank  of  choya,  frosty  in  the  sunlight,  and  it 
overhung  an  apparently  bottomless  abyss. 

Ladd  chose  the  smallest  gun  in  the  party  and  gave  it 
to  Mercedes. 

204 


THE   CRATER  OF  HELL 

"Shore  it's  best  to  go  the  limit  on  bein'  ready,"  he  said, 
simply.  "The  chances  are  you'll  never  need  it.  But  if 
you  do — " 

He  left  off  there,  and  his  break  was  significant 
Mercedes  answered  him  with  a  fearless  and  indomitable 
flash  of  eyes.  Thorne  was  the  only  one  who  showed 
any  shaken  nerve.  His  leave-taking  of  his  wife  was 
affecting  and  hurried.  Then  he  and  the  rangers  care 
fully  stepped  in  the  tracks  of  the  Yaqui. 

They  climbed  up  to  the  level  of  the  rim  and  went 
along  the  edge.  When  they  reached  the  fissure  and 
came  upon  its  narrowest  point,  Yaqui  showed  in  his 
actions  that  he  meant  to  leap  it.  Ladd  restrained  the 
Indian.  They  then  continued  along  the  rim  till  they 
reached  several  bridges  of  lava  which  crossed  it.  The 
fissure  was  deep  in  some  parts,  choked  in  others.  Evi 
dently  the  crater  had  no  direct  outlet  into  the  arroyo  be 
low.  Its  bottom,  however,  must  have  been  far  beneath 
the  level  of  the  waterhole. 

After  the  fissure  was  crossed  the  trail  was  soon 
found.  Here  it  ran  back  from  the  rim.  Yaqui  waved 
his  hand  to  the  right,  where  along  the  corrugated  slope 
of  the  crater  there  were  holes  and  crevices  and  coverts 
for  a  hundred  men.  Yaqui  strode  on  up  the  trail  to 
ward  a  higher  point,  where  presently  his  dark  figure 
stood  motionless  against  the  sky.  The  rangers  and 
Thorne  selected  a  deep  depression,  out  of  which  led 
several  ruts  deep  enough  for  cover.  According  to  Ladd 
it  was  as  good  a  place  as  any,  perhaps  not  so  hidden 
as  others,  but  freer  from  the  dreaded  choya.  Here  the 
men  laid  down  rifles  and  guns,  and,  removing  their  heavy 
cartridge  belts,  settled  down  to  wait. 

Their  location  was  close  to  the  rim  wall  and  probably 
five  hundred  yards  from  the  opposite  rim,  which  was  now 
seen  to  be  considerably  below  them.  The  glaring  red  cliff 
presented  a  deceitful  and  baffling  appearance.  It  had  a 
thousand  ledges  and  holes  in  its  surfaces,  and  one  moment 

205 


DESERT   GOLD 

it  looked  perpendicular  and  the  next  there  seemed  to  be 
a  long  slant.  Thorne  pointed  out  where  he  thought  Mer 
cedes  was  hidden ;  Ladd  selected  another  place,  and  Lash 
still  another.  Gale  searched  for  the  bank  of  the  choya  he 
had  seen  under  the  bench  where  Mercedes's  retreat  lay, 
and  when  he  found  it  the  others  disputed  his  opinion. 
Then  Gale  brought  his  field  glass  into  requisition,  proving 
that  he  was  right.  Once  located  and  fixed  in  sight,  the 
white  patch  of  choya,  the  bench,  and  the  sheep  eyrie  stood 
out  from  the  other  features  of  that  rugged  wall.  But  all 
the  men  were  agreed  that  Yaqui  had  hidden  Mercedes 
where  only  the  eyes  of  a  vulture  could  have  found  her. 

Jim  Lash  crawled  into  a  little  strip  of  shade  and  bided 
the  time  tranquilly.  Ladd  was  restless  and  impatient  and 
watchful,  every  little  while  rising  to  look  up  the  far- 
reaching  slope,  and  then  to  the  right,  where  Yaqui's 
dark  figure  stood  out  from  a  high  point  of  the  rim. 
Thorne  grew  silent,  and  seemed  consumed  by  a  slow, 
sullen  rage.  Gale  was  neither  calm  nor  free  of  a  gnaw 
ing  suspense  nor  of  a  waiting  wrath.  But  as  best  he 
could  he  put  the  pending  action  out  of  mind. 

It  came  over  him  all  of  a  sudden  that  he  had  not 
grasped  the  stupendous  nature  of  this  desert  setting. 
There  was  the  measureless  red  slope,  its  lower  ridges 
finally  sinking  into  white  sand  dunes  toward  the  blue  sea. 
The  cold,  sparkling  light,  the  white  sun,  the  deep  azure 
of  sky,  the  feeling  of  boundless  expanse  all  around  him 
—these  meant  high  altitude.  Southward  the  barren  red 
simply  merged  into  distance.  The  field  of  craters  rose  in 
high,  dark  wheels  toward  the  dominating  peaks.  When 
Gale  withdrew  his  gaze  from  the  magnitude  of  these 
spaces  and  heights  the  crater  beneath  him  seemed 
dwarfed.  Yet  while  he  gazed  it  spread  and  deepened 
and  multiplied  its  ragged  lines.  No,  he  could  not  grasp 
the  meaning  of  size  or  distance  here.  There  was  too  much 
to  stun  the  sight.  But  the  mood  in  which  nature  had 
created  this  convulsed  world  of  lava  seized  hold  upon  him. 

206 


THE  CRATER  OF  HELL 

Meanwhile  the  hours  passed.  As  the  sun  climbed  the 
clear,  steely  lights  vanished,  the  blue  hazes  deepened^ 
and  slowly  the  glistening  surfaces  of  lava  turned  redder. 
Ladd  was  concerned  to  discover  that  Yaqui  was  miss 
ing  from  his  outlook  upon  the  high  point.  Jim  Lash 
came  out  of  the  shady  crevice,  and  stood  up  to  buckle 
on  his  cartridge  belt.  His  narrow,  gray  glance  slowly 
roved  from  the  height  of  lava  down  along  the  slope, 
paused  in  doubt,  and  then  swept  on  to  resurvey  the 
whole  vast  eastern  dip  of  the  plateau. 

"I  reckon  my  eyes  are  pore,"  he  said.  "Mebbe  it's 
this  damn  red  glare.  Anyway,  what's  them  creepin* 
spots  up  there  ?" 

"Shore  I  seen  them.     Mountain  sheep,"  replied  Ladd. 

"Guess  again,  Laddy.  Dick,  I  reckon  you'd  better 
flash  the  glass  up  the  slope." 

Gale  adjusted  the  field  glass  and  began  to  search  the, 
lava,  beginning  close  at  hand  and  working  away  from 
him.  Presently  the  glass  became  stationary. 

"I  see  half  a  dozen  small  animals,  brown  in  coir*. 
They  look  like  sheep.  But  I  couldn't  distinguish  moun 
tain  sheep  from  antelope." 

"Shore  they're  bighorn,"  said  Laddy. 

"I  reckon  if  you'll  pull  around  to  the  east  an*  search 
under  that  long  wall  of  lava — there — you'll  see  what  I 
see,"  added  Jim. 

The  glass  climbed  and  circled,  wavered  an  instant,  then 
fixed  steady  as  a  rock.  There  was  a  breathless  silence. 

"Fourteen  horses  —  two  packed  —  some  mounted  — 
others  without  riders,  and  lame,"  said  Gale,  slowly. 

Yaqui  appeared  far  up  the  trail,  coming  swiftly.  Pres 
ently  he  saw  the  rangers  and  halted  to  wave  his  arms 
and  point.  Then  he  vanished  as  if  the  lava  had  opened 
beneath  him. 

"Lemme  that  glass,"  suddenly  said  Jim  Lash.  "I'm 
seein*  red,  I  tell  you.  .  .  .  Well,  pore  as  my  eyes  are  they 
had  it  right.  Rojas  an*  his  outfit  have  left  the  trail" 

207 


DESERT   GOLD 

"Jim,  you  ain't  meanin'  they've  taken  to  that  awful 
slope?"  queried  Ladd. 

"I  sure  do.  There  they  are — still  comin',  but  goin' 
down,  too." 

"Mebbe  Rojas  is  crazy,  but  it  begins  to  look  like  he — " 

"Laddy,  I'll  be  danged  if  the  Greaser  bunch  hasn't 
vamoosed.  Gone  out  of  sight!  Right  there  not  a  half 
mile  away,  the  whole  caboodle — gone!" 

"Shore  they're  behind  a  crust  or  have  gone  down  into 
a  rut,"  suggested  Ladd.  "They'll  show  again  in  a  min 
ute.  Look  sharp,  boys,  for  I'm  figgerin'  Rojas  '11  spread 
his  men." 

Minutes  passed,  but  nothing  moved  upon  the  slope. 
Each  man  crawled  up  to  a  vantage  point  along  the  crest 
of  rotting  lava.  The  watchers  were  careful  to  peer 
through  little  notches  or  from  behind  a  spur,  and  the 
constricted  nature  of  their  hiding-place  kept  them  close 
together.  Ladd's  muttering  grew  into  a  growl,  then 
lapsed  into  the  silence  that  marked  his  companions.  From 
time  to  time  the  rangers  looked  inquiringly  at  Gale. 
The  field  glass,  however,  like  the  naked  sight,  could  not 
catch  the  slightest  moving  object  out  there  upon  the 
lava.  A  long  hour  of  slow,  mounting  suspense  wore  on. 

"Shore  it's  all  goin'  to  be  as  queer  as  the  Yaqui,"  said 
Ladd. 

Indeed,  the  strange  mien,  the  silent  action,  the  somber 
character  of  the  Indian  had  not  been  without  effect  upon 
the  minds  of  the  men.  Then  the  weird,  desolate,  tragic 
scene  added  to  the  vague  sense  of  mystery.  And  now  the 
disappearance  of  Rojas's  band,  the  long  wait  in  the 
silence,  the  boding  certainty  of  invisible  foes  crawling, 
circling  closer  and  closer,  lent  to  the  situation  a  final 
touch  that  made  it  unreal. 

"I'm  reckonin'  there's  a  mind  behind  them  Greasers," 
replied  Jim.  "Or  mebbe  we  ain't  done  Rojas  credit.  .  .  . 
If  somethin*  would  only  come  off!" 

hat  Lash,  the  coolest,  most  provokingly  nonchalant 
208 


THE  CRATER  OF  HELL 

af  men  in  times  of  peril,  should  begin  to  show  a  nervous 
strain  was  all  the  more  indicative  of  a  subtle  pervading 
unreality. 

"Boys,  look  sharp!"  suddenly  called  Lash.  "Low 
down  to  the  left — mebbe  three  hundred  yards.  See, 
along  by  them  seams  of  lava — behind  the  choyas.  First 
off  I  thought  it  was  a  sheep.  But  it's  the  Yaqui!  .  .  . 
Crawlin'  swift  as  a  lizard!  Can't  you  see  him?" 

It  was  a  full  moment  before  Jim's  companions  could 
locate  the  Indian.  Flat  as  a  snake  Yaqui  wound  himself 
along  with  incredible  rapidity.  His  advance  was  all  the 
more  remarkable  for  the  fact  that  he  appeared  to  pass 
directly  under  the  dreaded  choyas.  Sometimes  he  paused 
to  lift  his  head  and  look.  He  was  directly  in  line  with  a 
huge  whorl  of  lava  that  rose  higher  than  any  point  on 
the  slope.  This  spur  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
position  of  the  rangers. 

"Shore  he's  headin'  for  that  high  place,*'  said  Ladd. 
"He's  going  slow  now.  There,  he's  stopped  behind  some 
choyas.  He's  gettin'  up — no*  he's  kneelin*.  .  .  .  Now 
what  the  hell!" 

"Laddy,  take  a  peek  at  the  side  of  that  lava  ridge," 
sharply  called  Jim.  "I  guess  mebbe  somethin'  ain't  comin* 
off.  See!  There's  Rojas  an'  his  outfit  climbin*.  Don't 
make  out  no  hosses.  .  .  .  Dick,  use  your  glass  an'  tell 
us  what's  doin*.  I'll  watch  Yaqui  an*  tell  you  what  his 
move  means." 

Clearly  and  distinctly,  almost  as  if  he  could  have 
touched  them,  Gale  had  Rojas  and  his  followers  in  sight. 
They  were  toiling  up  the  rough  lava  on  foot.  They  were 
heavily  armed.  Spurs,  chaps,  jackets,  scarfs  were  not 
in  evidence.  Gale  saw  the  lean,  swarthy  faces,  the  black 
straggly  hair,  the  ragged,  soiled  garments  which  had  once 
been  white. 

"They're  almost  up  now,"  Gale  was  saying.  "There! 

They  halt  on  top.  I  see  Rojas.  He  looks  wild.  By ! 

fellows,  an  Indian!  .  .  .  It's  a  Papago.  Belding's  old 

209 


DESERT   GOLD 

herder!  .  .  .  The  Indian  points — this  way — then  down. 
He's  showing  Rojas  the  lay  of  the  trail." 

"Boys,  Yaqui's  in  range  of  that  bunch,"  said  Jim, 
swiftly.  "He's  raisin*  his  rifle  slow — Lord,  how  slow  he 
is !  ...  He's  covered  some  one.  Which  one  I  can't,  say. 
But  I  think  he'll  pick  Rojas." 

"The  Yaqui  can  shoot.  He'll  pick  Rojas,"  added 
Gale,  grimly. 

"Rojas — yes — yes!"  cried  Thorne,  in  passion  of  sus 
pense. 

"Not  on  your  life!"  Ladd's  voice  cut  in  with  scorn. 
"Gentlemen,  you  can  gamble  Yaqui'll  kill  the  Papago. 
That  traitor  Indian  knows  these  sheep  haunts.  He's 
tellin'  Rojas—" 

A  sharp  rifle  shot  rang  out. 

"Laddy's  right,"  called  Gale.  "The  Papago's  hit— 
his  arm  falls —  There,  he  tumbles !" 

More  shots  rang  out.  Yaqui  was  seen  standing  erect 
Aring  rapidly  at  the  darting  Mexicans.  For  all  Gale 
could  make  out  no  second  bullet  took  effect.  Rojas  and 
his  men  vanished  behind  the  bulge  of  lava.  Then  Yaqui 
deliberately  backed  away  from  his  position.  He  made 
no  effort  to  run  or  hide.  Evidently  he  watched  cautiously 
for  signs  of  pursuers  in  the  ruts  and  behind  the  choyas. 
Presently  he  turned  and  came  straight  toward  the  posi 
tion  of  the  rangers,  sheered  off  perhaps  a  hundred  paces 
below  it,  and  disappeared  in  a  crevice.  Plainly  his  in 
tention  was  to  draw  pursuers  within  rifle  shot. 

"Shore,  Jim,  you  had  your  wish.  Somethin'  come 
off,"  said  Ladd.  "An'  I'm  sayin'  thank  God  for  the 
Yaqui !  That  Papago'd  have  ruined  us.  Even  so,  mebbe 
he's  told  Rojas  more'n  enough  to  make  us  sweat  blood." 

"He  had  a  chance  to  kill  Rojas,"  cried  out  the  drawn- 
faced,  passionate  Thorne.  "He  didn't  take  it!  ...  He 
didn't  take  it!" 

Only  Ladd  appeared  to  be  able  to  answer  the  cavalry 
man's  poignant  cry. 

210 


THE   CRATER  OF  HELL 

"Listen,  son,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  rang.  "We-aL 
know  how  you  feel.  An*  if  I'd  had  that  one  shot  never 
in  the  world  could  I  have  picked  the  Papago  guide.  I'd 
have  had  to  kill  Rojas.  That's  the  white  man  of  it. 
But  Yaqui  was  right.  Only  an  Indian  could  have  done 
it.  You  can  gamble  the  Papago  alive  meant  slim  chance 
for  us.  Because  he'd  led  straight  to  where  Mercedes  is 
hidden,  an'  then  we'd  have  left  cover  to  fight  it  out.  .  .  = 
When  you  come  to  think  of  the  Yaqui's  hate  for  Greasers, 
when  you  just  seen  him  pass  up  a  shot  at  one — well,  1 
don't  know  how  to  say  what  I  mean,  but  damn  me,  my 
som-brer-ro  is  off  to  the  Indian!" 

"I  reckon  so,  an'  I  reckon  the  ball's  opened,"  rejoined 
Lash,  and  now  that  former  nervous  impatience  so  un 
natural  to  him  was  as  if  it  had  never  been.  He  was  smil 
ingly  cool,  and  his  voice  had  almost  a  caressing  note.  He 
tapped  the  breach  of  his  Winchester  with  a  sinewy  brown 
hand,  and  he  did  not  appear  to  be  addressing  any  one  in 
particular.  "Yaqui's  opened  the  ball.  Look  up  your 
pardners  there,  gents,  an'  get  ready  to  dance." 

Another  wait  set  in  then,  and  judging  by  the  more  di 
rect  rays  of  the  sun  and  a  receding  of  the  little  shadows 
cast  by  the  c hoy as,  Gale  was  of  the  opinion  that  it  was  a 
long  wait.  But  it  seemed  short.  The  four  men  were 
lying  under  the  bank  of  a  half  circular  hole  in  the  lava. 
It  was  notched  and  cracked,  and  its  rim  was  fringed  by 
choyas.  It  sloped  down  and  opened  to  an  unobstructed 
view  of  the  crater.  Gale  had  the  upper  position,  farthest 
to  the  right,  and  therefore  was  best  shielded  from  possible 
fire  from  the  higher  ridges  of  the  rim,  some  three  hun 
dred  yards  distant.  Jim  came  next,  well  hidden  in  a 
crack.  The  positions  of  Thorne  and  Ladd  were  most 
exposed.  They  kept  sharp  lookout  over  the  uneven  ram 
part  of  their  hiding-place. 

The  sun  passed  the  zenith,  began  to  slope  westward, 
and  to  grow  hotter  as  it  sloped.  The  men  waited  and 
waited.  Gale  saw  no  impatience  even  in  Thorne.  The 

211 


DESERT   GOLD 

«ultry  air  seemed  to  be  laden  with  some  burden  or 
ity  that  was  at  once  composed  of  heat,  menace,  color, 
and  silence.  Even  the  light  glancing  up  from  the  lava 
seemed  red  and  the  silence  had  substance.  Sometimes 
Gale  felt  that  it  was  unbearable.  Yet  he  made  no  effort 
to  break  it. 

Suddenly  this  dead  stillness  was  rent  by  a  shot,  clear 
and  stinging,  close  at  hand.  It  was  from  a  rifle,  not  a 
carbine.  With  startling  quickness  a  cry  followed — a  cry 
that  pierced  Gale — it  was  so  thin,  so  high-keyed,  so  dif 
ferent  from  all  other  cries.  It  was  the  involuntary  human 
shriek  of  death. 

"Yaqui's  called  out  another  pardner,"  said  Jim  Lash, 
laconically. 

Carbines  began  to  crack.  The  reports  were  quick, 
light,  like  sharp  spats  without  any  ring.  Gale  peered 
from  behind  the  edge  of  his  covert.  Above  the  ragged 
wave  of  lava  floated  faint  whitish  clouds,  all  that  was 
visible  of  smokeless  powder.  Then  Gale  made  out  round 
spots,  dark  against  the  background  of  red,  and  in  front 
of  them  leaped  out  small  tongues  of  fire.  Ladd's  .405  be 
gan  to  "spang"  with  its  beautiful  sound  of  power.  Thorne 
was  firing,  somewhat  wildly  Gale  thought.  Then  Jim 
Lash  pushed  his  Winchester  over  the  rim  under  a  choya, 
and  between  shots  Gale  could  hear  him  singing:  "Turn 
the  lady,  turn — turn  the  lady,  turn!  .  .  .  Alaman  left! 
Swing  your  pardners!  .  .  .  Forward  an'  back!  .  .  . 
Turn  the  lady,  turn!"  Gale  got  into  the  fight  himself, 
not  so  sure  that  he  hit  any  of  the  round,  bobbing  objects 
he  aimed  at,  but  growing  sure  of  himself  as  action  lib 
erated  something  forced  and  congested  within  his  breast. 

Then  over  the  position  of  the  rangers  came  a  hail  of 
steel  bullets.  Those  that  struck  the  lava  hissed  away 
into  the  crater ;  those  that  came  biting  through  the  choyas 
made  a  sound  which  resembled  a  sharp  ripping  of  silk. 
Bits  of  cactus  stung  Gale's  face,  and  he  dreaded  the  flying 
thorns  more  than  he  did  the  flying  bullets. 

212 


THE   CRATER  OF   HELL 

"Hold  on,  boys,"  called  Ladd,  as  he  crouched  down  to 
reload  his  rifle.  "Save  your  shells.  The  Greasers  are 
spreaditi*  on  us,  some  goin'  down  below  Yaqui,  others 
movin'  up  for  that  high  ridge.  When  they  get  up  there 
I'm  damned  if  it  won't  be  hot  for  us.  There  ain't  room 
for  all  of  us  to  hide  here." 

Ladd  raised  himself  to  peep  over  the  rim.  Shots  were 
now  scattering,  and  all  appeared  to  come  from  below. 
Emboldened  by  this  he  rose  higher.  A  shot  from  in 
front,  a  rip  of  bullet  through  the  choya,  a  spat  of  some 
thing  hitting  Ladd's  face,  a  steel  missile  hissing  onward 
— these  inseparably  blended  sounds  were  all  registered 
by  Gale's  sensitive  ear. 

With  a  curse  Ladd  tumbled  down  into  the  hole.  His 
face  showed  a  great  gray  blotch,  and  starting  blood.  Gale 
felt  a  sickening  assurance  of  desperate  injury  to  the 
ranger.  He  ran  to  him  calling:  "Laddy!  Laddy!" 

"Shore  I  ain't  plugged.  It's  a  damn  choya  burr.  The 
bullet  knocked  it  in  my  face.  Pull  it  out!" 

The  oval,  long-spiked  cone  was  firmly  imbedded  in 
Ladd's  cheek.  Blood  streamed  down  his  face  and  neck. 
Carefully,  yet  with  no  thought  of  pain  to  himself,  Gale 
tried  to  pull  the  cactus  joint  away.  It  was  as  firm  as  if 
it  had  been  nailed  there.  That  was  the  damnable  feature 
of  the  barbed  thorns:  once  set,  they  held  on  as  that 
strange  plant  held  to  its  desert  life,  Ladd  began  to 
writhe,  and  sweat  mingled  with  the  blood  on  his  face. 
He  cursed  and  raved,  and  his  movements  made  it  almost 
impossible  for  Gale  to  do  anything. 

"Put  your  knife-blade  under  an*  tear  it  out!"  shouted 
Ladd,  hoarsely. 

Thus  ordered,  Gale  slipped  a  long  blade  in  between  the 
imbedded  thorns,  and  with  a  powerful  jerk  literally  tore 
the  choya  out  of  Ladd's  quivering  flesh.  Then,  where 
the  rangers  face  was  not  red  and  raw,  it  certainly  was 
white. 

A  volley  of  shots  from  a  different  angle  was  followed 

213 


DESERT   GOLD 

by  the  quick  ring  of  steel  bullets  striking  the  lava  all 
around  Gale.  His  first  idea,  as  he  heard  the  projectiles 
sing  and  hum  and  whine  away  into  the  air,  was  that  they 
were  coming  from  above  him.  He  looked  up  to  see  a 
number  of  low,  white  and  dark  knobs  upon  the  high 
point  of  lava.  They  had  not  been  there  before.  Then 
he  saw  little,  pale,  leaping  tongues  of  fire.  As  he  dodged 
down  he  distinctly  heard  a  bullet  strike  Ladd.  At  the 
same  instant  he  seemed  to  hear  Thorne  cry  out  and 
fall,  and  Lash's  boots  scrape  rapidly  away. 

Ladd  fell  backward  still  holding  the  .405.  Gale 
dragged  him  into  the  shelter  of  his  own  position,  and 
dreading  to  look  at  him,  took  up  the  heavy  weapon.  It 
was  with  a  kind  of  savage  strength  that  he  gripped  the 
rifle;  and  it  was  with  a  cold  and  deadly  intent  that  he 
aimed  and  fired.  The  first  Greaser  huddled  low,  let  his 
carbine  go  clattering  down,  and  then  crawled  behind  the 
tim.  The  second  and  third  jerked  back.  The  fourth 
seemed  to  flop  up  over  the  crest  of  lava.  A  dark  arm 
reached  for  him,  clutched  his  leg,  tried  to  drag  him  up. 
It  was  in  vain.  Wildly  grasping  at  the  air  the  bandit 
fell,  slid  down  a  steep  shelf,  rolled  over  the  rim,  to  go 
hurtling  down  out  of  sight. 

Fingering  the  hot  rifle  with  close-pressed  hands,  Gale 
watched  the  sky  line  along  the  high  point  of  lava.  It 
remained  unbroken.  As  his  passion  left  him  he  feared 
to  look  back  at  his  companions,  and  the  cold  chill  re 
turned  to  his  breast. 

"Shore — I'm  damn  glad — them  Greasers  ain't  usin* 
soft-nose  bullets,"  drawled  a  calm  voice. 

Swift  as  lightning  Gale  whirled. 

"Laddy!  I  thought  you  were  done  for,"  cried  Gale, 
with  a  break  in  his  voice. 

"I  ain't  a-mindin*  the  bullet  much.  But  that  choya 
joint  took  my  nerve,  an*  you  can  gamble  on  it.  Dickt 
this  hole's  pretty  high  up,  ain't  it?" 

The  ranger's  blouse  was  open  at  the  neck,  and  on  his 
214 


THE  CRATER  OF  HELL 

right  shoulder  under  the  collar  bone  was  a  small  hole 
just  beginning  to  bleed. 

"Sure  it's  high,  Laddy,"  replied  Gale,  gladly.  "Went 
clear  through,  clean  as  a  whistle!" 

He  tore  a  handkerchief  into  two  parts,  made  wads, 
and  pressing  them  close  over  the  wounds  he  bound  them 
there  with  Ladd's  scarf. 

"Shore  it's  funny  how  a  bullet  can  floor  a  man  an* 
then  not  do  any  damage,"  said  Ladd.  "I  felt  a  zip  of 
wind  an*  somethin*  like  a  pat  on  my  chest  an*  down  I 
went.  Well,  so  much  for  the  small  caliber  with  their 
steel  bullets.  Supposin'  I'd  connected  with  a  .405 !" 

"Laddy,  I — I'm  afraid  Thome's  done  for,*'  whispered 
Gale.  "He's  lying  over  there  in  that  crack.  I  can  see 
^art  of  him.  He  doesn't  move." 

"I  was  wonderin'  if  I'd  have  to  tell  you  that.  Dick, 
he  went  down  hard  hit,  fallin',  you  know,  limp  an'  soggy. 
It  was  a  moral  cinch  one  of  us  would  get  it  in  this  fight; 
but  God!  I'm  sorry  Thorne  had  to  be  the  man." 

"Laddy,  maybe  he's  not  dead,"  replied  Gale.  He 
called  aloud  to  his  friend.  There  was  no  answer. 

Ladd  got  up,  and,  after  peering  keenly  at  the  height 
of  lava,  he  strode  swiftly  across  the  space.  It  was  only 
a  dozen  steps  to  the  crack  in  the  lava  where  Thorne  had 
fallen  in  head  first.  Ladd  bent  over,  went  to  his  knees, 
so  that  Gale  saw  only  his  head.  Then  he  appeared  rising 
with  arms  round  the  cavalryman.  He  dragged  him  across 
the  hole  to  the  sheltered  corner  that  alone  afforded  pro 
tection.  He  had  scarcely  reached  it  when  a  carbine 
cracked  and  a  bullet  struck  the  flinty  lava,  striking 
sparks,  then  singing  away  into  the  air. 

Thorne  was  either  dead  or  unconscious,  and  Gale, 
with  a  contracting  throat  and  numb  heart,  decided  for 
the  former.  Not  so  Ladd,  who  probed  the  bloody  gash 
on  Thome's  temple,  and  then  felt  his  breast. 

"He's  alive  an'  not  bad  hurt.  That  bullet  hit  him 
glancin'.  Shore  them  steel  bullets  are  some  lucky  for 

215 


DESERT   GOLD 

USc  Dick,  you  needn't  look  so  glum.  I  tell  you  he  ain't 
bad  hurt.  I  felt  his  skull  with  my  finger.  There's  no 
hole  in  it  Wash  him  off  an'  tie —  Wow!  did  you  get 
the  wind  of  that  one?  An'  mebbe  it  didn't  sing  off  the 
lava!  „  »  .  Dick,  look  after  Thorne  now  while  I — " 

The  completion  of  his  speech  was  the  stirring  ring  of 
the  .405,  and  then  he  uttered  a  laugh  that  was  unpleasant. 

"Shore,  Greaser,  there's  a  man's  size  bullet  for  you. 
No  slim,  sharp-point,  steel-jacket  nail!  I'm  takin  it  on 
me  to  believe  you're  appreciatin'  of  the  405,  seem'  as 
you  don't  make  no  fuss." 

It  was  indeed  a  joy  to  Gale  to  find  that  Thorne  had 
not  received  a  wound  necessarily  fatal,  though  it  was 
serious  enough.  Gale  bathed  and  bound  it,  and  laid  the 
cavalryman  against  the  slant  of  the  bank,  his  head  high 
to  lessen  the  probability  of  bleeding. 

As  Gale  straightened  up  Ladd  muttered  low  and  deep, 
and  swung  the  heavy  rifle  around  to  the  left.  Far  along 
the  slope  a  figure  moved.  Ladd  began  to  work  the  lever 
of  the  Winchester  and  to  shoot.  At  every  shot  the  heavy 
firearm  sprang  up,  and  the  recoil  made  Ladd's  shoulder 
give  back.  Gale  saw  the  bullets  strike  the  lava  behind, 
beside,  before  the  fleeing  Mexican,  sending  up  dull  puffs 
of  dust.  On  the  sixth  shot  he  plunged  down  out  of  sight, 
either  hit  or  frightened  into  seeking  cover. 

"Dick,  mebbe  there's  one  or  two  left  above;  but  we 
needn't  figger  much  on  it,"  said  Ladd,  as,  loading  the 
rifle,  he  jerked  his  fingers  quickly  from  the  hot  breech. 
"Listen!  Jim  an*  Yaqui  are  hittin'  it  up  lively  down 
below.  I'll  sneak  down  there.  You  stay  here  an'  keep 
about  half  an  eye  peeled  up  yonder,  an'  keep  the  rest 
my  way." 

Ladd  crossed  the  hole,  climbed  down  into  the  deep 
crack  where  Thorne  had  fallen,  and  then  went  stooping 
along  with  only  his  head  above  the  level.  Presently  he 
disappeared.  Gale,  having  little  to  fear  from  the  high 
ridge,  directed  most  of  his  attention  toward  the  point 

216 


THE   CRATER  OF  HELL 

beyond  which  Ladd  had  gone.  The  firing  had  become 
desultory,  and  the  light  carbine  shots  outnumbered  the 
sharp  rifle  shots  five  to  one.  Gale  made  a  note  of  the 
fact  that  for  some  little  time  he  had  not  heard  the  un 
mistakable  report  of  Jim  Lash's  automatic.  Then  en 
sued  a  long  interval  in  which  the  desert  silence  seemed  to 
recover  its  grip.  The  .405  ripped  it  asunder — spang — 
spang — spang.  Gale  fancied  he  heard  yells.  There  were 
a  few  pattering  shots  still  farther  down  the  trail.  Gale 
had  an  uneasy  conviction  that  Rojas  and  some  of  his 
band  might  go  straight  to  the  waterhole.  It  would  be 
hard  to  dislodge  even  a  few  men  from  that  retreat. 

There  seemed  a  lull  in  the  battle.  Gale  ventured  to 
stand  high,  and,  screened  behind  choyas,  he  swept  the 
three-quarter  circle  of  lava  with  his  glass.  In  the  dis 
tance  he  saw  horses,  but  no  riders.  Below  him,  down  the 
slope  along  the  crater  rim  and  the  trail,  the  lava  was  bare 
of  all  except  tufts  of  choya.  Gale  gathered  assurance. 
It  looked  as  if  the  day  was  favoring  his  side.  Then 
Thorne,  coming  partly  to  consciousness,  engaged  Gale's 
care.  The  cavalryman  stirred  and  moaned,  called  for 
water,  and  then  for  Mercedes.  Gale  held  him  back  with 
a  strong  hand,  and  presently  he  was  once  more  quiet. 

For  the  first  time  in  hours,  as  it  seemed,  Gale  took  note 
of  the  physical  aspect  of  his  surroundings.  He  began  to 
look  upon  them  without  keen  gaze  strained  for  crouching 
form,  or  bobbing  head,  or  spouting  carbine.  Either 
Gale's  sense  of  color  and  proportion  had  become  deranged 
^tiring  the  fight,  or  the  encompassing  air  and  the  desert 
&ad  changed.  Even  the  sun  had  changed.  It  seemed 
lowering,  oval  in  shape,  magenta  in  hue,  and  it  had  a  sur 
face  that  gleamed  like  oil  on  water.  Its  red  rays  shone 
through  red  haze.  "*  Distances  that  had  formerly  been 
dearly  outlined  were  now  dim,  obscured.  The  yawning 
chasm  was  not  the  same.  It  circled  wider,  redder,  deeper. 
It  was  a  weird,  ghastly  mouth  of  hell.  Gale  stood  fas 
cinated,  unable  to  tell  how  much  he  saw  was  real,  how 

217 


DESERT  GOLD 

much  the  exaggeration  of  overwrought  emotions.  There 
was  no  beauty  here,  but  an  unparalled  grandeur,  a 
sublime  scene  of  devastation  and  desolation  which  might 
have  had  its  counterpart  upon  the  burned-out  moon. 
The  mood  that  gripped  Gale  now  added  to  its  somber 
portent  an  unshakable  foreboding  of  calamity. 

He  wrestled  with  the  spell  as  if  it  were  a  physical  foe. 
Reason  and  intelligence  had  their  voices  in  his  mind; 
but  the  moment  was  not  one  wherein  these  things  could 
wholly  control.  He  felt  life  strong  within  his  breast, 
yet  there,  a  step  away,  was  death,  yawning,  glaring, 
smoky  red.  It  was  a  moment — an  hour  for  a  savage, 
born,  bred,  developed  in  this  scarred  and  blasted  place 
of  jagged  depths  and  red  distances  and  silences  never 
meant  to  be  broken.  Since  Gale  was  not  a  savage  he 
fought  that  call  of  the  red  gods  which  sent  him  back 
down  the  long  ages  toward  his  primitive  day.  His  mind 
combated  his  sense  of  sight  and  the  hearing  that  seemed 
useless;  and  his  mind  did  not  win  all  the  victory.  Some 
thing  fatal  was  here,  hanging  in  the  balance,  as  the  red 
haze  hung  along  the  vast  walls  of  that  crater  of  hell. 

Suddenly  harsh,  prolonged  yells  brought  him  to  his 
feet,  and  the  unrealities  vanished.  Far  down  the  trails 
where  the  crater  rims  closed  in  the  deep  fissure  he  saw 
moving  forms.  They  were  three  in  number.  Two  of 
them  ran  nimbly  across  the  lava  bridge.  The  third  stag 
gered  far  behind.  It  was  Ladd.  He  appeared  hard  hit. 
He  dragged  at  the  heavy  rifle  which  he  seemed  unable 
to  raise.  The  yells  came  from  him.  He  was  calling  the 
Yaqui. 

Gale's  heart  stood  still  momentarily.  Here,  then,  was 
the  catastrophe !  He  hardly  dared  sweep  that  fissure  with 
his  glass.  The  two  fleeing  figures  halted — turned  to  fire 
at  Ladd.  Gale  recognized  the  foremost  one — small, 
compact,  gaudy — Rojas!  The  bandit's  arm  was  out 
stretched.  Puffs  of  white  smoke  rose,  and  shots  rapped 
out.  When  Ladd  went  down  Rojas  threw  his  gun  aside 

218 


THE  CRATER  OF  HELL 

and  with  a  wild  yell  bounded  over  the  lava.  His  com 
panion  followed. 

A  tide  of  passion,  first  hot  as  fire,  then  cold  as  ice, 
rushed  over  Gale  when  he  saw  Rojas  take  the  trail  to 
ward  Mercedes's  hiding-place.  The  little  bandit  ap 
peared  to  have  the  sure-footedness  of  a  mountain  sheep. 
The  Mexican  following  was  not  so  sure  or  fast.  He 
turned  back.  Gale  heard  the  trenchant  bark  of  the  .405. 
Ladd  was  kneeling.  He  shot  again — again.  The  retreat 
ing  bandit  seemed  to  run  full  into  an  invisible  obstacle, 
then  fell  lax,  inert,  lifeless.  Rojas  sped  on  unmindful 
of  the  spurts  of  dust  about  him.  Yaqui,  high  above  Ladd, 
was  also  firing  at  the  bandit.  Then  both  rifles  were 
emptied.  Rojas  turned  at  a  high  break  in  the  trail.  He 
shook  a  defiant  hand,  and  his  exulting  yell  pealed  faintly 
to  Gale's  ears.  About  him  there  was  something  desperate 
magnificent,  Then  he  clambered  down  the  trail. 

Ladd  dropped  the  .405,  and  rising,  gun  in  hand,  he 
staggered  toward  the  bridge  of  lava.  Before  he  had 
crossed  it  Yaqui  came  bounding  down  the  slope,  and 
in  one  splendid  leap  he  cleared  the  fissure.  He  ran 
beyond  the  trail  and  disappeared  on  the  lava  above- 
Rojas  had  not  seen  this  sudden,  darting  move  of  the 
Jndiai 

Gale  felt  himself  bitterly  powerless  to  aid  in  that  pur 
suit.  He  could  only  watch.  He  wondered,  fearfully^ 
what  had  become  of  Lash.  Presently,  when  Rojas  came 
out  of  the  cracks  and  ruts  of  lava  there  might  be  a  chance 
of  disabling  him  by  a  long  shot.  His  progress  was  now1 
slow.  But  he  was  making  straight  for  Mercedes's  hiding- 
place.  What  was  it  leading  him  there — an  eagle  eye,  or 
hate,  or  instinct?  Why  did  he  go  on  when  there  could 
be  no  turning  back  for  him  on  that  trail?  Ladd  was 
slow,  heavy,  staggering  on  the  trail ;  but  he  was  relent 
less.  Only  death  could  stop  the  ranger  now.  Surely 
Rojas  must  have  known  that  when  he  chose  the  traiL 
From  time  to  time  Gale  caught  glimpses  of  Yaqui's  dark 

219 


DESERT   GOLD 

figure  stealing  along  the  higher  rim  of  the  crater.    H* 
was  making  for  a  point  above  the  bandit. 

Moments — endless  moments  dragged  by.  The  lower 
ing1  sun  colored  only  the  upper  half  of  the  crater  walls. 
Far  down  the  depths  were  murky  blue.  Again  Gale  felt 
the  insupportable  silence.  The  red  haze  became  a  trans 
parent  veil  before  his  eyes.  Sinister,  evil,  brooding, 
waiting,  seemed  that  yawning  abyss.  Ladd  staggered 
along  the  trail,  at  times  he  crawled.  The  Yaqui  gained1, 
he  might  have  had  wings;  he  leaped  from  jagged  crust 
to  jagged  crust;  his  sure-footedness  was  a  wonderful 
thing. 

But  for  Gale  the  marvel  of  that  endless  period  of  watch 
ing  was  the  purpose  of  the  bandit  Rojas.  He  had  now 
no  weapon.  Gale's  glass  made  this  fact  plain.  There 
was  death  behind  him,  death  below  him,  death  before 
him,  and  though  he  could  not  have  known  it,  death  above 
him.  He  never  faltered — never  made  a  misstep  upon 
the  narrow,  flinty  trail.  When  he  reached  the  lower  end 
of  the  level  ledge  Gale's  poignant  doubt  became  a  cei» 
tainty.  Rojas  had  seen  Mercedes.  It  was  incredible, 
yet  Gale  believed  it.  Then,  his  heart  clamped  as  in  an 
icy  vise,  Gale  threw  forward  the  Remington,  and  sinking 
on  one  knee,  began  to  shoot.  He  emptied  the  magazine. 
Puffs  of  dust  near  Rojas  did  not  even  make  him  turn. 

As  Gale  began  to  reload  he  was  horror-stricken  by  a 
low  cry  from  Thorne.  The  cavalryman  had  recovered 
consciousness.  He  was  half  raised,  pointing  with  shaking 
hand  at  the  opposite  ledge.  His  distended  eyes  were 
riveted  upon  Rojas.  He  was  trying  to  utter  speech  that 
Would  not  come. 

Gale  wheeled,  rigid  now,  steeling  himself  to  one  last 
forlorn  hope^that  Mercedes  could  defend  herself.  She 
had  a  gun.  He  doubted  not  at  all  that  she  would  use  it. 
But,  remembering  her  terror  of  this  savage,  he  feared 
for  her. 

Rojas  reached  the  level  of  the  ledge.    He  halted.    He 

22(? 


THE  CRATER  OF  HELL 

crouched.  It  was  the  act  of  a  panther.  Manifestly  he 
saw  Mercedes  within  the  cave.  Then  faint  shots  patted 
the  air,  broke  in  quick  echo.  Rojas  went  down  as  if 
struck  a  heavy  blow.  He  was  hit.  But  even  as  Gale 
yelled  in  sheer  madness  the  bandit  leaped  erect.  He 
seemed  too  quick,  too  supple  to  be  badly  wounded.  A 
slight,  dark  figure  flashed  out  of  the  cave.  Mercedes! 
She  backed  against  the  wall.  Gale  saw  a  puff  of  white — 
heard  a  report.  But  the  bandit  lunged  at  her.  Mercedes 
ran,  not  to  try  to  pass  him,  but  straight  for  the  precipice. 
Her  intention  was  plain.  But  Rojas  outstripped  her, 
even  as  she  reached  the  verge.  Then  a  piercing  scream 
pealed  across  the  crater — a  scream  of  despair. 

Gale  closed  his  eyes.  He  could  not  bear  to  see 
more. 

Thorne  echoed  Mercedes's  scream.  Gale  looked  round 
just  in  time  to  leap  and  catch  the  cavalryman  as  he  stag 
gered,  apparently  for  the  steep  slope.  And  then,  as  Gal^ 
dragged  him  back,  both  fell.  Gale  saved  his  friend,  but 
he  plunged  into  a  choya.  He  drew  his  hands  away  full 
of  the  great  glistening  cones  of  thorns. 

'Tor  God's  sake,  Gale,  shoot!  Shoot!  Kill  her! 
Kill  her!  .  .  .  Can't — you — see — Rojas — " 

Thorne  fainted. 

Gale,  stunned  for  the  instant,  stood  with  uplifted  hands, 
and  gazed  from  Thorne  across  the  crater.  Rojas  had  not 
killed  Mercedes.  He  was  overpowering  her.  His  actions 
seemed  slow,  wearing,  purposeful.  Hers  were  violent 
Like  a  trapped  she-wolf,  Mercedes  was  fighting.  She 
tore,  struggled,  flung  herself. 

Rojas's  intention  was  terribly  plain. 

In  agony  now,  both  mental  and  physical,  cold  and  sick 
and  weak,  Gale  gripped  his  rifle  and  aimed  at  the  strug 
gling  forms  on  the  ledge.  He  pulled  the  trigger.  The 
bullet  struck  up  a  cloud  of  red  dust  close  to  the  strug 
gling  couple.  Again  Gale  fired,  hoping  to  hit  Rojas^ 
praying  to  kill  Mercedes.  The  bullet  struck  highc  A 

221 


DESERT   GOLD 

third — fourth — fifth  time  the  Remington  spoke — in 
The  rifle  fell  from  Gale's  racked  hands. 

How  horribly  plain  that  fiend's  intention!  Gale  tried 
to  close  his  eyes,  but  could  not.  He  prayed  wildly  for 
a  sudden  blindness — to  faint  as  Thorne  had  fainted.  But 
he  was  transfixed  to  the  spot  with  eyes  that  pierced  the 
red  light. 

Mercedes  was  growing  weaker,  seemed  about  to  col 
lapse. 

"Oh,  Jim  Lash,  are  you  dead?"  cried  Gale.  "Oh, 
Laddy!  ...  Oh,  Yaqui!" 

Suddenly  a  dark  form  literally  fell  down  the  wail  be 
hind  the  ledge  where  Rojas  fought  the  girl.  It  sank  in 
a  heap,  then  bounded  erect. 

"Yaqui!"  screamed  Gale,  and  he  waved  his  bleeding 
hands  till  the  blood  bespattered  his  face.  Then  he  choked. 
Utterance  became  impossible. 

The  Indian  bent  over  Rojas  and  flung  him  against  the 
wall.  Mercedes,  sinking  back,  lay  still.  When  Rojas 
got  up  the  Indian  stood  between  him  and  escape  from 
the  ledge.  Rojas  backed  the  other  way  along  the  nar 
rowing  shelf  of  lava.  His  manner  was  abject,  stupefied. 
Slowly  he  stepped  backward. 

It  was  then  that  Gale  caught  the  white  gleam  of  a 
knife  in  Yaqui's  hand.  Rojas  turned  and  ran.  He 
rounded  a  corner  of  wall  where  the  footing  was  precari 
ous.  Yaqui  followed  slowly.  His  figure  was  dark  and 
menacing.  But  he  was  not  in  a  hurry.  When  he  passed 
off  the  ledge  Rojas  was  edging  farther  and  farther  along 
the  wall.  He  was  clinging  now  to  the  lava,  creeping  inch 
by  inch.  Perhaps  he  had  thought  to  work  around  the 
buttress  or  climb  over  it.  Evidently  he  went  as  far  as 
possible,  and  there  he  clung,  an  unscalable  wall  above, 
the  abyss  beneath. 

The  approach  of  the  Yaqui  was  like  a  slow  dark  shad 
ow  of  gloom.  If  it  seemed  so  to  the  stricken  Gale  what 
must  it  have  been  to  Rojas  ?  He  appeared  to  sink  agains* 


THE  CKXTE.R  OF  HELL 

the  wall.  The  Yaqui  stole  closer  and  closer.  He  was  the 
savage  now,  and  for  him  the  moment  must  have  been 
glorified.  Gale  saw  him  gaze  up  at  the  great  circling 
walls  of  the  crater,  then  down  into  the  depths.  Per 
haps  the  red  haze  hanging  above  him,  or  the  purple 
haze  below,  or  the  deep  caverns  in  the  lava,  held  for 
Yaqui  spirits  of  the  desert,  his  gods  to  whom  he  called- 
perhaps  he  invoked  shadows  of  his  loved  ones  and  his 
£ace,  calling  them  in  this  moment  of  vengeance. 

Gale  heard— -or  imagined  he  heard — that  wild,  strange 
Yaqui  cry. 

Then  the  Indian  stepped  close  to  Rojas,  and  bent  low, 
keeping  out  of  reach.  How  slow  were  his  motions! 
Would  Yaqui  never — never  end  it?  .  ,  .;  A  wail  drifted 
across  the  crater  to  Gale's  ears. 

Rojas  fell  backward  and  plunged  sheer.  The  bank  of 
white  choyas  caught  him,  held  him  upon  their  steel 
spikes.  How  long  did  the  dazed  Gale  sit  there  watching 
Rojas  wrestling  and  writhing  in  convulsive  frenzy?  The. 
bandit  now  seemed  mad  to  win  the  delayed  death. 

When  he  broke  free  he  was  a  white  patched  object 
no  longer  human,  a  ball  of  choya  burrs,  and  he  slipped 

i  off  the  bank  to  shoot  down  and  down  into  the  purr>;$ 

'depths  Sf  the  crater. 


XIII 

CHANGES  AT   FORLORN    RIVER 

THE  first  of  March  saw  the  federal  occupation  of  the 
garrison  at  Casita.  After  a  short,  decisive  engage 
ment  the  rebels  were  dispersed  into  small  bands  and 
driven  eastward  along  the  boundary  line  toward  Nogales. 

It  was  the  destiny  of  Forlorn  River,  however,  never 
to  return  to  the  slow,  sleepy  tenor  of  its  former  existence. 
Belding's  predictions  came  true.  That  straggling  line 
of  home-seekers  was  but  a  forerunner  of  the  real  in 
vasion  of  Altar  Valley.  Refugees  from  Mexico  and 
from  Casita  spread  the  word  that  water  and  wood  and 
grass  and  land  were  to  be  had  at  Forlorn  River;  and 
as  if  by  magic  the  white  tents  and  red  adobe  houses 
sprang  up  to  glisten  in  the  sun. 

Belding  was  happier  than  he  had  been  for  a  long  time. 
He  believed  that  evil  days  for  Forlorn  River,  along  with 
the  apathy  and  lack  of  enterprise,  were  in  the  past.  He 
hired  a  couple  of  trustworthy  Mexicans  to  ride  the  boun 
dary  line,  and  he  settled  down  to  think  of  ranching  and 
irrigation  and  mining  projects.  Every  morning  he  ex 
pected  to  receive  some  word  from  Sonoyta  or  Yuma, 
telling  him  that  Yaqui  had  guided  his  party  safely  across 
the  desert. 

Belding  was  simple-minded,  a  man  more  inclined  to 
action  than  reflection.  When  the  complexities  of  life 
hemmed  him  in,  he  groped  his  way  out,  never  quite  un 
derstanding.  His  wife  had  always  been  a  mystery  to  him. 
Nell  was  sunshine  most  of  the  time,  but,  like  the  sun- 
dominated  desert,  she  was  subject  to  strange  changes, 

224 


CHANGES  AT  FORLORN  RIVER 

wilful,  stormy,  sudden.  It  was  enough  for  Belding  now 
to  find  his  wife  in  a  lighter,  happier  mood,  and  to  see 
Neil  dreamily  turning  a  ring  round  and  round  the  third 
linger  of  her  left  hand  and  watching  the  west.  Every 
day  both  mother  and  daughter  appeared  farther  removed 
from  the  past  darkly  threatening  days.  Belding  was 
hearty  in  his  affections,  but  undemonstrative.  If  there 
was  any  sentiment  in  his  make-up  it  had  an  outlet  in  his 
memory  of  Blanco  Diablo  and  a  longing  to  see  him. 
Often  Belding  stopped  his  work  to  gaze  out  over  the 
desert  toward  the  west.  When  he  thought  of  his  rangers 
and  Thome  and  Mercedes  he  certainly  never  forgot  his 
horse.  He  wondered  if  Diablo  was  running,  walking, 
resting;  if  Yaqui  was  finding  water  and  grass. 

In  March,  with  the  short  desert  winter  over,  the  days 
began  to  grow  warm.  The  noon  hours  were  hot,  and 
seemed  to  give  promise  of  the  white  summer  blaze  and 
blasting  furnace  wind  soon  to  come.  No  word  was  re 
ceived  from  the  rangers.  But  this  caused  Belding  no 
concern,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  women  folk  con 
sidered  no  news  good  news. 

Among  the  many  changes  coming  to  pass  in  Forlorn 
River  were  the  installing  of  post-office  service  and  the 
building  of  a  mescal  drinking-house.  Belding  had  worked 
hard  for  the  post-office,  but  he  did  not  like  the  idea  of  a 
saloon  for  Forlorn  River.  Still,  that  was  an  inevitable 
evil.  The  Mexicans  would  have  mescal.  Belding  had 
kept  the  little  border  hamlet  free  of  an  establishment 
for  distillation  of  the  fiery  cactus  drink.  A  good  many 
Americans  drifted  into  Forlorn  River — miners,  cowboys, 
prospectors,  outlaws,  and  others  of  nondescript  char 
acter;  and  these  men,  of  course,  made  the  saloon,  which 
was  also  an  inn,  their  headquarters.  Belding,  with  Car 
ter  and  other  old  residents,  saw  the  need  of  a  sheriff 
for  Forlorn  River. 

One  morning  early  in  this  spring  month,  while  Belding 
was  on  his  way  from  the  house  to  the  corrals,  he  saw  Nell 

22J? 


DESERT   GOLD 

running  Blanco  Jose  down  the  road  at  a  gait  that  amazed 
him.  She  did  not  take  the  turn  of  the  road  to  come  in 
by  the  gate.  She  put  Jose  at  a  four-foot  wire  fence,  and 
came  clattering  into  the  yard. 

"Nell  must  have  another  tantrum,"  said  Belding. 
"She's  long  past  due." 

Blanco  Jose,  like  the  other  white  horses,  was  big  of 
frame  and  heavy,  and  thunder  rolled  from  under  his 
great  hoofs.  Nell  pulled  him  up,  and  as  he  pounded 
and  slid  to  a  halt  in  a  cloud  of  dust  she  swung  lightly 
down. 

It  did  not  take  more  than  half  an  eye  for  Belding  to 
see  that  she  was  furious. 

"Nell,  what's  come  off  now?"  asked  Belding. 

"I'm  not  going  to  tell  you,"  she  replied,  and  started 
siway,  leading  Jose  toward  the  corral. 

Belding  leisurely  followed.  She  went  into  the  corralf 
removed  Jose's  bridle,  and  led  him  to  the  watering-trough. 
Belding  came  up,  and  without  saying  anything  began  to 
unbuckle  Jose's  saddle  girths.  But  he  ventured  a  look 
at  Nell.  The  red  had  gone  from  her  face,  and  he  was 
surprised  to  see  her  eyes  brimming  with  tears.  Most 
assuredly  this  was  not  one  of  Nell's  tantrums.  While 
taking  off  Jose's  saddle  and  hanging  it  in  the  shed  Belding 
pondered  in  his  slow  way.  When  he  came  back  to  the 
corral  Nell  had  her  face  against  the  bars,  and  she  was 
crying.  He  slipped  a  big  arm  around  her  and  waited. 
Although  it  was  not  often  expressed,  there  was  a  strong 
attachment  between  them. 

"Dad,  I  don't  want  you  to  think  me  a — a  baby  any 
more,"  she  said.  "I've  been  insulted." 

With  a  specific  fact  to  make  clear  thought  in  Belding's 
mind  he  was  never  slow. 

"I  knew  something  unusual  had  come  off.  I  guess 
you'd  better  tell  me." 

"Dad,  I  will,  if  you  promise." 

"What?" 

226 


CHANGES  AT  FORLORN  RIVER 

"Not  to  mention  it  to  mother,  not  to  pack  a  gun  down 
there,  and  never,  never  tell  Dick." 

Belding  was  silent.  Seldom  did  he  make  promises  readily. 

"Nell,  sure  something  must  have  come  off,  for  you  to 
ask  all  that." 

"If  you  don't  promise  I'll  never  tell,  that's  all,"  she 
declared,  firmly. 

Belding  deliberated  a  little  longer.    He  knew  the  girl. 

"Well,  I  promise  not  to  tell  mother,"  he  said,  pres 
ently;  "and  seeing  you're  here  safe  and  well,  I  guess  I 
won't  go  packing  a  gun  down  there,  wherever  that  is. 
But  I  won't  promise  to  keep  anything  from  Dick  that 
perhaps  he  ought  to  know." 

"Dad,  what  would  Dick  do  if — if  he  were  here  and 
I  were  to  tell  him  I'd — I'd  been  horribly  insulted?" 

"I  guess  that'd  depend.  Mostly,  you  know,  Dick  does 
what  you  want.  But  you  couldn't  stop  him — nobody 
could — if  there  was  reason,  a  man's  reason,  to  get  started. 
Remember  what  he  did  to  Rojas!  .  .  .  Nell,  tell  me 
what's  happened." 

Nell,  regaining  her  composure,  wiped  her  eyes  and 
smoothed  back  her  hair. 

"The  other  day,  Wednesday,"  she  began,  "T  was  com 
ing  home,  and  in  front  of  that  mescal  drinking-^- -ace  there 
was  a  crowd.  It  was  a  noisy  crowd.  I  didn't  want  to 
walk  out  into  the  street  or  seem  afraid.  But  I  had  to  do 
both.  There  were  several  young  men,  and  if  they  weren't 
drunk  they  certainly  were  rude.  I  never  saw  them 
before,  but  I  think  they  must  belong  to  the  mining  com 
pany  that  was  run  out  of  Sonora  by  rebels.  Mrs.  Carte* 
was  telling  me.  Anyway,  these  young  fellows  were  Amer 
icans.  They  stretched  themselves  across  the  walk  and 
smiled  at  me.  I  had  to  go  out  in  the  road.  One  of 
them,  the  rudest,  followed  me.  He  was  a  big  fellow,  red- 
faced,  with  prominent  eyes  and  a  bold  look.  He  came 
up  beside  me  and  spoke  to  me.  I  ran  home.  And  as  I 
ran  I  heard  his  companions  jeering. 

227 


DESERT   GOLD 

"Well,  to-day,  just  now,  when  I  was  riding  up  the  val 
ley  road  I  came  upon  the  same  fellows.  They  had  instru 
ments  and  were  surveying.  Remembering  Dick,  and  how 
he  always  wished  for  an  instrument  to  help  work  out  his 
plan  for  irrigation,  I  was  certainly  surprised  to  see  these 
strangers  surveying — and  surveying  upon  Laddy's  plot 
of  land.  It  was  a  sandy  road  there,  and  Jose  happened 
to  be  walking.  So  I  reined  in  and  asked  these  engineers 
what  they  were  doing.  The  leader,  who  was  that  same 
bold  fellow  who  had  followed  me,  seemed  much  pleased 
at  being  addressed.  He  was  swaggering — too  friendly; 
not  my  idea  of  a  gentleman  at  all.  He  said  he  was  glad 
to  tell  me  he  was  going  to  run  water  all  over  Altar  Val 
ley.  Dad,  you  can  bet  that  made  me  wild.  That  was 
Dick's  plan,  his  discovery,  and  here  were  surveyors  on 
Laddy's  claim. 

"Then  I  told  him  that  he  was  working  on  private  land 
and  he'd  better  get  off.  He  seemed  to  forget  his  flirty 
proclivities  in  amazement.  Then  he  looked  cunning.  I 
read  his  mind.  It  was  news  to  him  that  all  the  land 
along  the  valley  had  been  taken  up. 

"He  said  something  about  not  seeing  any  squatters  on 
the  land,  and  then  he  shut  up  tight  on  that  score.  But 
he  began  to  be  flirty  again.  He  got  hold  of  Jose's  bridle, 
and  before  I  could  catch  my  breath  he  said  I  was  a 
peach,  that  he  wanted  to  make  a  date  with  me,  that  his 
name  was  Chase,  that  he  owned  a  gold  mine  in  Mexico. 
He  said  a  lot  more  I  didn't  gather,  but  when  he  called 
me  'Dearie'  I — well,  I  lost  my  temper. 

"I  jerked  on  the  bridle  and  told  him  to  let  go.  He  held 
on  and  rolled  his  eyes  at  me.  I  dare  say  he  imagined  he 
was  a  gentleman  to  be  infatuated  with.  He  seemed  sure 
of  conquest.  One  thing  was  certain,  he  didn't  know  the 
least  bit  about  horses.  It  scared  me  the  way  he  got  in 
front  of  Jose.  I  thanked  my  stars  I  wasn't  up  on  Blanco 
Diablo.  Well,  Dad,  I'm  a  little  ashamed  now,  but  I  was 
tnad.  I  slashed  him  across  the  face  with  my  quirt. 

228 


CHANGES  AT  FORLORN  RIVER 

Jose  jumped  and  knocked  Mr.  Chase  into  the  sand.  I 
didn't  get  the  horse  under  control  till  I  was  out  of  sight 
of  those  surveyors,  and  then  I  let  him  run  home." 

"Nell,  I  guess  you  punished  the  fellow  enough.  Maybe 
he's  only  a  conceited  softy.  But  I  don't  like  that  sort  of 
thing.  It  isn't  Western.  I  guess  he  won't  be  so  smart 
next  time.  Any  fellow  would  remember  being  hit  by 
Blanco  Jose.  If  you'd  been  up  on  Diablo  we'd  have  to 
bury  Mr.  Chase." 

"Thank  goodness  I  wasn't!  I'm  sorry  now,  Dad. 
Perhaps  the  fellow  was  hurt.  But  what  could  I  do? 
Let's  forget  all  about  it,  and  I'll  be  careful  where  I  ride 
in  the  future.  .  .  .  Dad,  what  does  it  mean,  this  sur 
veying  around  Forlorn  River?" 

"I  don't  know,  Nell,"  replied  Belding,  thoughtfully. 
"It  worries  me.  It  looks  good  for  Forlorn  River,  but 
bad  for  Dick's  plan  to  irrigate  the  valley.  Lord,  I'd 
hate  to  have  some  one  forestall  Dick  on  that !" 

"No,  no,  we  won't  let  anybody  have  Dick's  rights," 
declared  Nell. 

"Where  have  I  been  keeping  myself  not  to  know  about 
these  surveyors?"  muttered  Belding.  'They  must  have 
just  come." 

"Go  see  Mrs.  Carter.  She  told  me  there  were  strangers 
in  town,  Americans,  who  had  mining  interests  in  Sonora, 
and  were  run  out  by  Orozco.  Find  out  what  they're 
doing,  Dad." 

Belding  discovered  that  he  was,  indeed,  the  last  man  of 
consequence  in  Forlorn  River  to  learn  of  the  arrival  of 
Ben  Chase  and  son,  mine  owners  and  operators  in  Sonora. 
They,  with  a  force  of  miners,  had  been  besieged  by  rebels 
anc  finally  driven  off  their  property.  This  property  was 
not  destroyed,  but  held  for  ransom.  And  the  Chases, 
pending  developments,  had  packed  outfits  and  struck  for 
the  border.  Casita  had  been  their  objective  point,  but, 
for  some  reason  which  Belding  did  not  learn,  they  had 
arrived  instead  at  Forlorn  River,  It  had  taken  Ben  Chase 

aag 


DESERT   GOLD 

just  one  day  to  see  the  possibilities  of  Altar  Valley,  and 
in  three  days  he  had  men  at  work. 

Belding  returned  home  without  going  to  see  the  Chases 
and  their  operations.  He  wanted  to  think  over  the  situa 
tion.  Next  morning  he  went  out  to  the  valley  to  see  for 
himself.  Mexicans  were  hastily  erecting  adobe  houses 
upon  Ladd's  one  hundred  and  sixty  acres,  upon  Dick 
Gale's,  upon  Jim  Lash's  and  Thome's.  There  were  men 
staking  the  valley  floor  and  the  river  bed.  That  was 
sufficient  for  Belding.  He  turned  back  toward  town  and 
headed  for  the  camp  of  these  intruders. 

In  fact,  the  surroundings  of  Forlorn  River,  except  on 
the  river  side,  reminded  Belding  of  the  mushroom  growth 
of  a  newly  discovered  mining  camp.  Tents  were  every 
where;  adobe  shacks  were  in  all  stages  of  construction; 
rough  clapboard  houses  were  going  up.  The  latest  of 
this  work  was  new  and  surprising  to  Belding,  all  because 
he  was  a  busy  man,  with  no  chance  to  hear  village  gossip. 
When  he  was  directed  to  the  headquarters  of  the  Chast 
•Mining  Company  he  went  thither  in  slow-growing  wrath. 

He  came  to  a  big  tent  with  a  huge  canvas  fly  stretched 
in  front,  under  which  sat  several  men  in  their  shirt 
sleeves.  They  were  talking  and  smoking. 

"My  name's  Belding.  I  want  to  see  this  Mr.  Chase," 
eaid  Belding,  gruffly. 

Slow-witted  as  Belding  was,  and  absorbed  in  his  own 
feelings,  he  yet  saw  plainly  that  his  advent  was  disturbing 
to  these  men.  They  looked  alarmed,  exchanged  glances, 
and  then  quickly  turned  to  him.  One  of  them,  a  tall, 
rugged  man  with  sharp  face  and  shrewd  eyes  and  white 
hair,  got  up  and  offered  his  hand. 

"I'm  Chase,  senior,"  he  said.  "My  son  Radford  Chase 
is  here  somewhere.  You're  Belding,  the  line  inspector, 
I  take  it?  I  meant  to  call  on  you." 

He  seemed  a  rough-and-ready,  loud-spoken  man,  withal 
cordial  enough. 

"Yes,  I'm  the  inspector,"  replied  Belding,  ignoring  the 
230 


CHANGES  AT  FORLORN  RIVER 

proffered  hand,  "and  I'd  like  to  know  what  in  the  hell 
you  mean  by  taking  up  land  claims — staked  ground  that 
belongs  to  my  rangers?" 

"Land  claims?"  slowly  echoed  Chase,  studying  his 
man.  "We're  taking  up  only  unclaimed  land." 

"That's  a  lie.    You  couldn't  miss  the  stakes." 

"Well,  Mr.  Belding,  as  to  that,  I  think  my  men  did 
run  across  some  staked  ground.  But  we  recognize  only 
squatters.  If  your  rangers  think  they've  got  property 
just  because  they  drove  a  few  stakes  in  the  ground  they're 
much  mistaken.  A  squatter  has  to  build  a  house  and  live 
on  his  land  so  long,  according  to  law,  before  he  owns  it." 

This  argument  was  unanswerable,  and  Belding  knew  it. 

"According  to  law!"  exclaimed  Belding.  "Then  you 
own  up;  you've  jumped  our  claims." 

"Mr.  Belding,  I'm  a  plain  business  man.  I  come 
along.  I  see  a  good  opening.  Nobody  seems  to  have 
tenable  grants.  I  stake  out  claims,  locate  squatters,  start 
to  build.  It  seems  to  me  your  rangers  have  overlooked 
certain  precautions.  That's  unfortunate  for  them.  I'm 
prepared  to  hold  my  claim  and  to  back  all  squatters 
who  work  for  me.  If  you  don't  like  it  you  can  carry 
the  matter  to  Tucson.  The  law  will  uphold  me." 

"The  law?  Say,  on  this  southwest  border  we  haven't 
any  law  except  a  man's  word  and  a  gun." 

"Then  you'll  find  United  States  law  has  come  along 
with  Ben  Chase,"  replied  the  other,  snapping  his  fingers. 
He  was  still  smooth,  outspoken,  but  his  mask  had  fallen. 

"You're  not  a  Westerner?"    queried  Belding. 
;     "No,  I'm  from  Illinois." 

"I  thought  the  West  hadn't  bred  you.  I  know  your 
kind.  You'd  last  a  long  time  on  the  Texas  border;  now, 
wouldn't  you?  You're  one  of  the  land  and  water  hogs 
that  has  come  to  root  in  the  West.  You're  like  the  tim 
ber  sharks — take  it  all  and  leave  none  for  those  who 
follow.  Mr.  Chase,  the  West  would  fare  better  and  last 
longer  if  men  like  you  were  driven  out." 

231 


DESERT   GOLD 

"You  can't  drive  me  out." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  Wait  till  my  rangers  come 
back.  I  wouldn't  be  in  your  boots.  Don't  mistake  me. 
I  don't  suppose  you  could  be  accused  of  stealing  another 
man's  ideas  or  plan,  but  sure  you've  stolen  these  four 
claims.  Maybe  the  law  might  uphold  you.  But  the 
spirit,  not  the  letter  counts  with  us  bordermen." 

"See  here,  Belding,  I  think  you're  taking  the  wrong 
view  of  the  matter.  I'm  going  to  develop  this  valley. 
You'd  do  better  to  get  in  with  me.  I've  a  proposition 
to  make  you  about  that  strip  of  land  of  yours  facing 
the  river/' 

"You  can't  make  any  deals  with  me.  I  won't  have 
anything  to  do  with  you." 

Belding  abruptly  left  the  camp  and  went  home.  Nell 
met  him,  probably  intended  to  question  him,  but  one  look 
into  his  face  confirmed  her  fears.  She  silently  turned 
away.  Belding  realized  he  was  powerless  to  stop  Chase, 
and  he  was  sick  with  disappointment  for  the  ruin  of 
Dick's  hopes  and  his  own. 


XIV 

A  LOST  SON 

TIME  passed.  The  population  of  Forlorn  River  grew 
apace.  Belding,  who  had  once  been  the  head  of 
the  community,  found  himself  a  person  of  little  conse 
quence.  Even  had  he  desired  it  he  would  not  have  had 
any  voice  in  the  selection  of  postmaster,  sheriff,  and  a 
few  other  officials.  The  Chases  divided  their  labors  be 
tween  Forlorn  River  and  their  Mexican  gold  mine,  which 
had  been  restored  to  them.  The  desert  trips  between 
these  two  places  were  taken  in  automobiles.  A  month's 
time  made  the  motor  cars  almost  as  familiar  a  sight  in 
Forlorn  River  as  they  had  been  in  Casita  before  the 
revolution. 

Belding  was  not  so  busy  as  he  had  been  formerly.  As 
he  lost  ambition  he  began  to  find  less  work  to  do.  His 
wrath  at  the  usurping  Chases  increased  as  he  slowly 
realized  his  powerlessness  to  cope  with  such  men.  They 
were  promoters,  men  of  big  interests  and  wide  influence 
in  the  Southwest.  The  more  they  did  for  Forlorn  River 
the  less  reason  there  seemed  to  be  for  his  own  grievance. 
He  had  to  admit  that  it  was  personal ;  that  he  and  Gale 
and  the  rangers  would  never  have  been  able  to  develop 
the  resources  of  the  valley  as  these  men  were  doing  it. 

All  day  long  he  heard  the  heavy  booming  blasts  and  the 
rumble  of  avalanches  up  in  the  gorge.  Chase's  men  were 
dynamiting  the  cliffs  in  the  narrow  box  canon.  They 
were  making  the  dam  just  as  Gale  had  planned  to  make  it. 
When  this  work  of  blasting  was  over  Belding  experienced 
a  relief.  He  would  not  now  be  continually  reminded  of 

233 


DESERT  GOLD 

bis  and  Gale's  loss.  Resignation  finally  came  to  him. 
But  he  could  not  reconcile  himself  to  misfortune  for  Gale. 

Moreover,  Belding  had  other  worry  and  strain.  April 
arrived  with  no  news  of  the  rangers.  From  Casita  came 
vague  reports  of  raiders  in  the  Sonoyta  country — reports 
impossible  to  verify  until  his  Mexican  rangers  returned. 
When  these  men  rode  in,  one  of  them,  Gonzales,  an  in 
telligent  and  reliable  halfbreed,  said  he  had  met  pros 
pectors  at  the  oasis.  They  had  just  come  in  on  the 
Camino  del  Diablo,  reported  a  terrible  trip  of  heat  and 
drought,  and  not  a  trace  of  the  Yaqui's  party. 

"That  settles  it,"  declared  Belding.  "Yaqui  never 
went  to  Sonoyta.  He's  circled  round  to  the  Devil's  Road, 
and  the  rangers,  Mercedes,  Thorne,  the  horses — they — > 
I'm  afraid  they  have  been  lost  in  the  desert.  It's  an  old 
story  on  Camino  del  Diablo." 

He  had  to  tell  Nell  that,  and  it  was  an  ordeal  which 
left  him  weak. 

Mrs.  Belding  listened  to  him,  and  was  silent  for  a  long 
time  while  she  held  the  stricken  Nell  to  her  breast.  Then 
she  opposed  his  convictions  with  that  quiet  strength  so 
characteristic  of  her  arguments. 

"Well,  then,"  decided  Belding,  "Rojas  headed  the 
rangers  at  Papago  Well  or  the  Tanks." 

"Tom,  when  you  are  down  in  the  mouth  you  use  poor 
judgment,"  she  went  on.  "You  know  only  by  a  miracle 
could  Rojas  or  anybody  have  headed  those  white  horses. 
Where's  your  old  stubborn  confidence?  Yaqui  was  up  on 
Diablo.  Dick  was  up  on  Sol.  And  there  were  the  other 
horses.  They  could  not  have  been  headed  or  caught. 
Miracles  don't  happen." 

"All  right,  mother,  it's  sure  good  to  hear  you,"  said 
Belding.  She  always  cheered  him,  and  now  he  grasped  at 
straws.  "I'm  not  myself  these  days,  don't  mistake  that. 
Tell  us  what  you  think.  You  always  say  you  feel  things 
when  you  really  don't  know  them." 

"I  can  say  little  more  than  what  you  said  yourself  the 

234 


A  LOST  SON 

night  Mercedes  was  taken  away.  You  tcna  Ladd>  to 
trust  Yaqui,  that  he  was  a  godsend.  He  might  go  south 
into  some  wild  Sonora  valley.  He  might  lead  Rojas  into 
a  trap.  He  would  find  water  and  grass  where  no  Mexican 
or  American  could." 

"But  mother,  they're  gone  seven  weeks.  Seven  weeks  i 
At  the  most  I  gave  them  six  weeks.  Seven  weeks  in  the 
desert!" 

"How  do  the  Yaquis  live  ?"  she  asked. 

Belding  could  not  reply  to  that,  but  hope  revived  in 
him.  He  had  faith  in  his  wife,  though  he  could  not  in  the 
least  understand  what  he  imagined  was  something  mystic 
in  her. 

"Years  ago  when  I  was  searching  for  my  father  I  learned 
many  things  about  this  country,"  said  Mrs.  Belding.  "You 
can  never  tell  how  long  a  man  may  live  in  the  desert. 
The  fiercest,  most  terrible  and  inaccessible  places  often 
have  their  hidden  oasis.  In  his  later  years  my  father  be 
came  a  prospector.  That  was  strange  to  me,  for  he  never 
cared  for  gold  or  money.  I  learned  that  he  was  often 
gone  in  the  desert  for  weeks,  once  for  months.  Then  the 
time  came  when  he  never  came  back.  That  was  years 
before  I  reached  the  southwest  border  and  heard  of  him. 
Even  then  I  did  not  for  long  give  up  hope  of  his  coming 
back.  I  know  now — something  tells  me — indeed,  it  seems 
his  spirit  tells  me — he  was  lost.  But  I  don't  have  that 
feeling  for  Yaqui  and  his  party.  Yaqui  has  given  Rojas 
the  slip  or  has  ambushed  him  in  some  trap.  Probably 
that  took  time  and  a  long  journey  into  Sonora.  The 
.Indian  is  too  wise  to  start  back  now  over  dry  trails. 
He'll  curb  the  rangers;  he'll  wait.  I  seem  to  know  this, 
dear  Nell,  so  be  brave,  patient.  Dick  Gale  will  come  back 
to  you." 

"Oh,  mother !"  cried  Nell.  "I  can't  give  up  hope  while 
I  have  you." 

That  talk  with  the  strong  mother  worked  a  change  in 
Nell  and  in  Belding.  Nell,  who  had  done  little  but  brood 

235 


DESERT   GOLD 

and  watch  the  west  and  take  violent  rides,  seemed  to 
settle  into  a  waiting  patience  that  was  sad,  yet  serene. 
She  helped  her  mother  more  than  ever;  she  was  a  comfort 
to  Belding;  she  began  to  take  active  interest  in  the  affairs 
of  the  growing  village.  Belding,  who  had  been  breaking 
under  the  strain  of  worry,  recovered  himself  so  that  to 
outward  appearance  he  was  his  old  self.  He  alone  knew, 
however,  that  his  humor  was  forced,  and  that  the  slow 
burning  wrath  he  felt  for  the  Chases  was  flaming  into  hate. 

Belding  argued  with  himself  that  if  Ben  Chase  and  his 
son,  Radford,  had  turned  out  to  be  big  men  in  other  waya 
than  in  the  power  to  carry  on  great  enterprises  he  might 
have  become  reconciled  to  them.  But  the  father  was 
greedy,  grasping,  hard,  cold ;  the  son  added  to  those  traits 
an  overbearing  disposition  to  rule,  and  he  showed  a  fond 
ness  for  drink  and  cards.  These  men  were  developing 
the  valley,  to  be  sure,  and  a  horde  of  poor  Mexicans  and 
many  Americans  were  benefiting  from  that  development; 
nevertheless,  these  Chases  were  operating  in  a  way  which 
proved  they  cared  only  for  themselves. 

Belding  shook  off  a  lethargic  spell  and  decided  he  had 
better  set  about  several  by  no  means  small  tasks,  if  he 
wanted  to  get  them  finished  before  the  hot  months.  He 
made  a  trip  to  the  Sonoyta  Oasis.  He  satisfied  himself 
that  matters  along  the  line  were  favorable,  and  that 
there  was  absolutely  no  trace  of  his  rangers.  Upon 
completing  this  trip  he  went  to  Casita  with  a  number  of 
his  white  thoroughbreds  and  shipped  them  to  ranchers 
and  horse-breeders  in  Texas.  Then,  being  near  the  rail 
road,  and  having  time,  he  went  up  to  Tucson.  There  he 
learned  some  interesting  particulars  about  the  Chases. 
They  had  an  office  in  the  city;  influential  friends  in  the 
Capitol.  They  were  powerful  men  in  the  rapidly  growing 
finance  of  the  West.  They  had  interested  the  Southern 
Pacific  Railroad,  and  in  the  near  future  a  branch  line  was 
to  be  constructed  from  San  Felipe  to  Forlorn  River. 
[These  details  of  the  Chase  development  were  insignificant 

236 


A  LOST   SON 

when  compared  to  a  matter  striking  close  home  to  Belding. 
His  responsibility  had  been  subtly  attacked.  A  doubt 
had  been  cast  upon  his  capability  of  executing  the  duties 
of  immigration  inspector  to  the  best  advantage  of  the 
state.  Belding  divined  that  this  was  only  an  entering 
wedge.  The  Chases  were  bent  upon  driving  him  out  of 
Forlorn  River ;  but,  perhaps  to  serve  better  their  own  ends, 
they  were  proceeding  at  leisure.  Belding  returned  home 
consumed  by  rage.  But  he  controlled  it.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  was  afraid  of  himself.  He  had  his  wife 
and  Nell  to  think  of;  and  the  old  law  of  the  West  had 
gone  forever. 

"Dad,  there's  another  Rojas  round  these  diggings,"  was 
Nell's  remark,  after  the  greetings  were  over  and  the 
usual  questions  and  answers  passed. 

Belding's  exclamation  was  cut  short  by  Nell's  laugh. 
She  was  serious  with  a  kind  of  amused  contempt. 

"Mr.  Radford  Chase!" 

"Now  Nell,  what  the — "  roared  Belding. 

"Hush,  Dad!  Don't  swear,"  interrupted  Nell.  "I 
only  meant  to  tease  you." 

"Humph!  Say,  my  girl,  that  name  Chase  makes  me 
see  red.  If  you  must  tease  me  hit  on  some  other  way. 
Sabe,  senorita?" 

"Si,  si,  Dad." 

"Nell,  you  may  as  well  tell  him  and  have  it  over,"  said 
Mrs.  Belding,  quietly. 

"You  promised  me  once,  Dad,  that  you'd  not  go  pack 
ing  a  gun  off  down  there,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  replied  Belding;  but  he  did  not 
answer  her  smile. 

"Will  you  promise  again?"  she  asked,  lightly.  Here 
was  Nell  with  arch  eyes,  yet  not  the  old  arch  eyes,  so  full 
of  fun  and  mischief.  Her  lips  were  tremulous ;  her  cheeks 
seemed  less  round. 

"Yes,"  rejoined  Belding;  and  he  knew  why  his  voice 
was  a  little  thick. 

237 


DESERT   GOLD 

"Well,  if  you  weren't  such  a  good  old  blind  Dad  you'd 
have  seen  long  r.go  the  way  Mr.  Radford  Chase  ran  round 
after  me.  At  first  it  was  only  annoying,  and  I  did  not 
want  to  add  to  your  worries.  But  these  two  weeks  you've 
been  gone  I've  been  more  than  annoyed.  After  that  time 
I  struck  Mr.  Chase  with  my  quirt  he  made  all  possible 
efforts  to  meet  me.  He  did  meet  me  wherever  I  went. 
He  sent  me  letters  till  I  got  tired  of  sending  them  back. 

"When  you  left  home  on  your  trips  I  don't  know  that 
he  grew  bolder,  but  he  had  more  opportunity.  I  couldn't 
stay  in  the  house  all  the  time.  There  were  mama's  errands 
and  sick  people  and  my  Sunday  school,  and  what  not. 
Mr.  Chase  waylaid  me  every  time  I  went  out.  If  he  works 
any  more  I  don't  know  when,  unless  it's  when  I'm  asleep. 
He  followed  me  until  it  was  less  embarrassing  for  me 
to  let  him  walk  with  me  and  talk  his  head  off.  He  made 
love  to  me.  He  begged  me  to  marry  him.  I  told  him 
I  was  already  in  love  and  engaged  to  be  married.  He 
said  that  didn't  make  any  difference.  Then  I  called  him 
a  fool. 

"Next  time  he  saw  me  he  said  he  must  explain.  He 
meant  I  was  being  true  to  a  man  who,  everybody  on  the 
border  knew,  had  been  lost  in  the  desert.  That — that 
hurt.  Maybe — maybe  it's  true.  Sometimes  it  seems 
terribly  true.  Since  then,  of  course,  I  have  stayed  in  the 
house  to  avoid  being  hurt  again. 

"But,  Dad,  a  little  thing  like  a  girl  sticking  close  to  hef 
mother  and  her  room  doesn't  stop  Mr.  Chase.  I  think 
he's  crazy.  Anyway,  he's  a  most  persistent  fool.  I  want 
to  be  charitable,  because  the  man  swears  he  loves  me, 
and  maybe  he  does,  but  he  is  making  me  nervous.  1 
don't  sleep.  I'm  afraid  to  be  in  my  room  at  night.  I've 
gone  to  mother's  room.  He's  always  hangin?  round. 
Bold!  Why,  that  isn't  the  thing  to  call  Mr.  Chase  He's 
absolutely  without  a  sense  of  decency.  He  bribe  our 
servants.  He  comes  into  our  patio.  Think  of  $Hat  i  H0 
makes  the  most  ridiculous  excuses.  He  bothers  mothe$ 

238  / 


A   LOST   SON 

to  death.  I  feel  like  a  poor  little  rabbit  holed  by  a  hound. 
And  I  daren't  peep  out." 

Somehow  the  thing  struck  Belding  as  funny,  and  he 
laughed.  He  had  not  had  a  laugh  for  so  long  that  it  made 
him  feel  good.  He  stopped  only  at  sight  of  Nell's  sur 
prise  and  pain.  Then  he  put  his  arms  round  her. 

"Never  mind  dear.  I'm  an  old  bear.  But  it  tickled 
me,  I  guess.  I  sure  hope  Mr.  Radford  Chase  has  got  it 
bad.  . . .  Nell,  it's  only  the  old  story.  T-he  fellows  fall  in 
love  with  you.  It's  your  good  looks,  Nell.  What  a 
price  women  like  you  and  Mercedes  have  to  pay  for 
beauty !  I'd  a  d —  a  good  deal  rather  be  ugly  as  a  mud 
fence." 

"So  would  I,  Dad,  if— if  Dick  would  still  love  me." 

"He  wouldn't,  you  can  gamble  on  that,  as  Laddy  says* 
. . .  Well,  the  first  time  I  catch  this  locoed  Romeo  sneak 
ing  round  here  I'll— I'll— " 

"Dad,  you  promised." 

"Confound  it,  Nell,  I  promised  not  to  pack  a  gun. 
That's  all.  I'll  only  shoo  this  fellow  off  the  place,  gently* 
mind  you,  gently.  I'll  leave  the  rest  for  Dick  Gale !" 

"Oh,  Dad!"  cried  Nell;  and  she  clung  to  him  wistful, 
frightened,  yet  something  more. 

"Don't  mistake  me,  Nell.  You  have  you  own  way, 
generally.  You  pull  the  wool  over  mother's  eyes,  and  you 
wind  me  round  /our  little  finger.  But  you  can't  do  eithes 
with  Dick  Gale.  You're  tender-hearted;  you  overlook 
the  doings  Dt"  this  iiound,  Chase.  But  when  Dick  comes 
back,  you  just  make  up  your  mind  to  a  little  hell  in  the 
Chase  camp.  Oh,  he'll  find  it  out.  And  I  sure  want  to  be 
round  when  Dick  hands  Mr.  Radford  the  same  as  he 
handed  Rojas!" 

Belding  kept  a  sharp  lookout  for  young  Chase,  and 
_hen,  a  few  days  later,  learned  that  both  son  and  father 
:iad  gone  off  upon  one  of  their  frequent  trips  to  Casa 
Grandes,  near  where  their  mines  were  situated. 

April  srrew  apace,  and  soon  gave  jway  to  May.    One. 

239 


DESERT   GOLD 

morning  Belding  was  called  from  some  garden  work  by 
the  whirring  of  an  automobile  and  a  "Holloa !"  He  went 
forward  to  the  front  yard  and  there  saw  a  car  he  thought 
resembled  one  he  had  seen  in  Casita.  It  contained  a 
familiar-looking  driver,  but  the  three  figures  in  gray  coats 
and  veils  were  strange  to  him.  By  the  time  he  had  gotten 
to  the  road  he  decided  two  were  women  and  the  other  a 
man.  At  the  moment  their  faces  were  emerging  from 
dusty  veils.  Belding  saw  an  elderly,  sallow-faced,  rather 
frail-appearing  man  who  was  an  entire  stranger  to  him ; 
a  handsome  dark-eyed  woman  whose  hair  showed  white 
through  her  veil;  and  a  superbly  built  girl,  whose  face 
made  Belding  at  once  think  of  Dick  Gale. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Tom  Belding,  inspector  of  immigration?" 
inquired  the  gentleman,  courteously. 

"I'm  Belding,  and  I  know  who  you  are,"  replied  Beld 
ing  in  hearty  amaze,  as  he  stretched  forth  his  big  hand. 
"You're  Dick  Gale's  Dad — the  Governor,  Dick  used  to 
say,  I'm  sure  glad  to  meet  you." 

"Thank  you.  Yes,  I'm  Dick's  governor,  and  here,  Mr. 
Belding — Dick's  mother  and  his  sister  Elsie." 

Beaming  his  pleasure,  Belding  shook  hands  with  the 
ladies,  who  showed  their  agitation  clearly. 

"Mr.  Belding,  I've  come  west  to  look  up  my  lost  son," 
said  Mr.  Gale.  "His  sister's  letters  were  unanswered. 
We  haven't  heard  from  him  in  months.  Is  he  still  here 
with  you?" 

"Well,  now,  sure  I'm  awful  sorry,"  began  Belding,  his 
slow  mind  at  work.  "Dick's  away  just  now — been  away 
for  a  considerable  spell.  I'm  expecting  him  back  any 
day. . . .  Won't  you  come  in  ?  You're  all  dusty  and  hot 
and  tired.  Come  in,  and  let  mother  and  Nell  make  you 
comfortable.  Of  course  you'll  stay.  We've  a  big  house. 
You  must  stay  till  Dick  comes  back.  Maybe  that  '11 

be —  Aw,  I  guess  it  won't  be  long Let  me  handle  the 

baggage,  Mr.  Gale. . . .  Come  in.  I  sure  am  glad  to  meet 
you  all.' 

240 


A   LOST   SON 

Eager,  excited,  delighted,  Belding  went  on  talking  as  he 
ushered  the  Gales  into  the  sitting-room,  presenting  them 
in  his  hearty  way  to  the  astounded  Mrs.  Belding  and  Nell. 
For  the  space  of  &  few  moments  his  wife  and  daughter 
were  bewildered.  Belding  did  not  recollect  any  other  oc 
casion  when  a  few  callers  had  thrown  them  off  their  bal 
ance.  But  of  course  this  was  different.  He  was  a  little 
flustered  himself — a  circumstance  that  dawned  upon  him 
with  surprise.  When  the  Gales  had  been  shown  to  rooms, 
Mrs.  Belding  gained  the  poise  momentarily  lost ;  but  Nell 
came  rushing  back,  wilder  than  a  deer,  in  a  state  of  ex 
citement  strange  even  for  her. 

"Oh!   Dick's  mother,  his  sister!"  whispered  Nell. 

Belding  observed  the  omission  of  the  father  in  Nell's 
exclamation  of  mingled  delight  and  alarm. 

"His  mother!"  went  on  Nell.  "Oh,  I  knew  it!  I 
always  guessed  it !  Dick's  people  are  proud,  rich ;  they're 
somebody.  I  thought  I'd  faint  when  she  looked  at  me. 
She  was  just  curious — curious,  but  so  cold  and  proud. 
She  was  wondering  about  me.  Dick  has  never  written 
her  that  he's — he's  engaged  to  me.  I'm  wearing  his  ring. 
It  was  his  mother's,  he  said.  I  won't — I  can't  take  it  ofL 

And  I'm  scared But  the  sister — oh,  she's  lovely  and 

sweet — proud,  too.  I  felt  warm  all  over  when  she  looked 
at  me.  I — I  wanted  to  kiss  her.  She  looks  like  Dick 
when  he  first  came  to  us.  But  he's  changed.  They'll 
hardly  recognize  him. ...  To  think  they've  come !  And 
I  had  to  be  looking  a  fright,  when  of  all  times  on  earth 
I'd  want  to  look  my  best." 

Nell,  out  of  breath,  ran  away  evidently  to  make  herself 
presentable,  according  to  her  idea  of  the  exigency  of  the 
case.  Belding  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  wife's  face  as  she 
went  out,  and  it  wore  a  sad,  strange,  anxious  expression. 
Then  Belding  sat  alone,  pondering  the  contracting  emo 
tions  of  his  wife  and  daughter.  It  was  beyond  his  under 
standing.  Women  were  creatures  of  feeling.  Belding 
saw  reason  to  be  delighted  to  entertain  Dick's  family ;  and 

241 


DESERT    GOLD 

for  the  time  being  no  disturbing  thought  entered  his 
mind. 

Presently  the  Gales  came  back  into  the  sitting-room, 
looking  very  different  without  the  long  gray  cloaks  and 
veils.  Belding  saw  distinction  and  elegance.  Mr.  Gale 
seemed  a  grave,  troubled,  kindly  person,  ill  in  body  and 
mind.  Belding  received  the  same  impression  of  power 
that  Ben  Chase  had  given  him,  only  here  it  was  minus 
any  harshness  or  hard  quality.  He  gathered  that  Mr. 
Gale  was  a  man  of  authority.  Mrs.  Gale  rather  frightened 
Belding,  but  he  could  not  have  told  why.  The  girl  was 
just  like  Dick  as  he  used  to  be. 

Their  manner  of  speaking  also  reminded  Belding  of  Dick. 
They  talked  of  the  ride  from  Ash  Fork  down  to  the 
border,  of  the  ugly  and  torn-up  Casita,  of  the  heat  and 
dust  and  cactus  along  the  trail.  Presently  Nell  came  in, 
now  cool  and  sweet  in  white,  with  a  red  rose  at  her 
breast.  Belding  had  never  been  so  proud  of  her.  He 
saw  that  she  meant  to  appear  well  in  the  eyes  of  Dick's 
people,  and  began  to  have  a  faint  perception  of  what  the 
ordeal  was  for  her.  Belding  imagined  the  sooner  the 
Gales  were  told  that  Dick  was  to  marry  Nell  the  better 
for  all  concerned,  and  especially  for  Nell.  In  the  general 
conversation  that  ensued  he  sought  for  an  opening  in 
which  to  tell  this  important  news,  but  he  was  kept  so  busy 
answering  questions  about  his  position  on  the  border,  the 
kind  of  place  Forlorn  River  was,  the  reason  for  so  many 
tents,  etc.,  that  he  was  unable  to  find  opportunity. 

"It's  interesting,  very  interesting,"  said  Mr.  Gale.  "At 
another  time  I  want  to  learn  all  you'll  tell  me  about 
the  West.  It's  new  to  me.  I'm  surprised,  amazed,  sir,  I 
may  say. . . .  But,  Mr.  Belding,  what  I  want  to  know  most 
is  about  my  son.  I'm  broken  in  health.  I've  worried 
myself  ill  over  him.  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  sir,  that 
we  quarreled.  I  laughed  at  his  threats.  He  went  away. 
And  I've  come  to  see  I  didn't  know  Richard.  I  was  wrong 
to  upbraid  him.  For  a  year  we've  known  nothing  of  his 

242 


A   LOST   SON 

doings,  and  now  for  almost  six  months  we've  not  heard 
from  him  at  all.  Frankly,  Mr.  Belding,  I  weakened 
first,  and  I've  come  to  hunt  him  up.  My  fear  is  that  I 
didn't  start  soon  enough.  The  boy  will  have  a  great 
position  some  day — God  knows,  perhaps  soon !  I  should 
not  have  allowed  him  to  run  over  this  wild  country  for  so 
long.  But  I  hope,  though  I  hardly  believed,  that  he 
might  find  himself.  Now  I'm  afraid  he's — " 

Mr.  Gale  paused,  ano  the  white  hand  he  raised  ex 
pressively  shook  a  little. 

Belding  was  not  so  thick-witted  where  men  were  con 
cerned.  He  saw  how  the  matter  lay  between  Dick  Gale 
and  his  father. 

"Well,  Mr.  Gale,  sure  most  young  bucks  from  the  East 
^o  to  the  bad  out  here,"  he  said,  bluntly. 

"I've  been  told  that,"  replied  Mr.  Gale,  and  a  shade 
Dverspread  his  worn  face. 

"They  blow  their  money,  then  go  to  punching  cows, 
take  to  whisky." 

"Yes,"  rejoined  Mr.  Gale,  feebly  nodding. 

"Then  they  get  to  gambling,  lose  their  jobs,"  went  on 
Belding. 

Mr.  Gale  lifted  haggard  eyes. 

"Then  it's  bumming  around,  regular  tramps,  and  to 
the  bad  generally."  Belding  spread  wide  his  big  arms, 
and  when  one  of  them  dropped  round  Nell,  who  sat  beside 
him,  she  squeezed  his  hand  tight.  "Sure,  it's  the  regular 
thing,"  he  concluded,  cheerfully. 

He  rather  felt  a  little  glee  at  Mr.  Gale's  distress,  and 
Mrs.  Gale's  crushed  I-told-you-so  woe  in  no  wise  bothered 
him ;  but  the  look  in  the  big,  dark  eyes  of  Dick's  sister 
was  too  much  for  Belding. 

He  choked  off  his  characteristic  oath  when  excited  and 
blurted  out,  "Say,  but  Dick  Gale  never  went  to  the  bad ! 
...  Listen!" 

Belding  had  scarcely  started  Dick  Gale's  story  when  he 
perceived  that  never  in  his  life  had  he  such  an  absorbed 

243 


DESERT   GOLD 

and  breathless  audience.  Presently  they  were  awed, 
and  at  the  conclusion  of  that  story  they  sat  white-faced, 
still,  amazed  beyond  speech.  Dick  Gale's  advent  in 
Casita,  his  rescue  of  Mercedes,  his  life  as  a  border  ranger 
certainly  lost  no  picturesque  or  daring  or  even  noble 
detail  in  Belding's  telling.  He  kept  back  nothing  but  the 
present  doubt  of  Dick's  safety. 

Dick's  sister  was  the  first  of  the  three  to  recover  herself. 

"Oh,  father !"  she  cried ;  and  there  was  a  glorious  light 
in  her  eyes.  "Deep  down  in  my  heart  I  knew  Dick  was  a 
tnan!" 

Mr.  Gale  rose  unsteadily  from  his  chair.  His  frailty 
was  now  painfully  manifest. 

"Mr.  Belding,  do  you  mean  my  son — Richard  Gale — 
has  done  all  that  you  told  us?"  he  asked,  incredulously. 

"I  sure  do,"  replied  Belding,  with  hearty  good  will. 

"Martha,  do  you  hear?"  Mr.  Gale  turned  to  question 
his  wife.  She  could  not  answer.  Her  face  had  not  yet 
regained  its  natural  color. 

"He  faced  that  bandit  and  his  gang  alone — he  fought 
them?"  demanded  Mr.  Gale,  his  voice  stronger. 

"Dick  mopped  up  the  floor  with  the  whole  outfit !" 

"He  rescued  a  Spanish  girl,  went  into  the  desert 
without  food,  weapons,  anything  but  his  hands?  Richard 
Gale,  whose  hands  were  always  useless  ?" 

Belding  nodded  with  a  grin. 

"He's  a  ranger  now — riding,  fighting,  sleeping  on  the 
sand,  preparing  his  own  food  ?" 

"Well,  I  should  smile,"  rejoined  Belding. 

"He  cares  for  his  horse,  with  his  own  hands?"  This 
query  seemed  to  be  the  climax  of  Mr.  Gale's  strange 
hunger  for  truth.  He  had  raised  his  head  a  little  higher, 
and  his  eye  was  brighter. 

Mention  of  a  horse  fired  Belding's  blood. 

"Does  Dick  Gale  care  for  his  horse?  Say,  there  are 
not  many  men  as  well  loved  as  that  white  horse  of  Dick's. 
Blanco  Sol  he  is,  Mr.  Gale.  That's  Mex  for  White  Sun. 

244 


A   LOST   SON 

Wait  till  you  see  Blanco  Sol!  Bar  one.  the  whitest,  big 
gest,  strongest,  fastest,  grandest  horse  Li  the  Southwest  1" 

"So  he  loves  a  horse !  I  shall  not  know  my  own  son. 
. . .  Mr.  Belding,  you  say  Richard  works  for  you.  May 
I  ask,  at  what  salary  ?" 

"He  gets  forty  dollars,  board  and  outfit,"  replied  Beld 
ing,  proudly. 

"Forty  dollars?"  echoed  the  father.  "By  the  day  or 
week?" 

"The  month,  of  course,"  said  Belding,  somewhat  taken 
aback. 

"Forty  dollars  a  month  for  a  young  man  who  spent 
five  hundred  in  the  same  time  when  he  was  at  college, 
and  who  ran  it  into  thousands  when  he  got  out !" 

Mr.  Gale  laughed  for  the  first  time,  and  it  was  the 
laugh  of  a  man  who  wanted  to  believe  what  he  heard  yet 
scarcely  dared  to  do  it. 

"What  does  he  do  with  so  much  money — money 
earned  by  peril,  toil,  sweat,  and  blood  ?  Forty  dollars  a 
month!" 

"He  saves  it,"  replied  Belding. 

Evidently  this  was  too  much  for  Dick  Gale's  father,  and 
he  gazed  at  his  wife  in  sheer  speechless  astonishment 
Dick's  sister  clapped  her  hands  like  a  little  child. 

Belding  saw  that  the  moment  was  propitious. 

"Sure  he  saves  it.  Dick's  engaged  to  marry  Nell  here. 
My  stepdaughter,  Nell  Burton." 

"Oh-h,  Dad!"  faltered  Nell;  and  she  rose,  white  as  her 
dress. 

How  strange  it  was  to  see  Dick's  mother  and  sister  rise, 
also,  and  turn  to  Nell  with  dark,  proud,  searching  eyes. 
Belding  vaguely  realized  some  blunder  he  had  made. 
Nell's  white,  appealing  face  gave  him  a  pang.  What  had 
he  done?  Surely  this  family  of  Dick's  ought  to  know  his 
relation  to  Nell.  There  was  a  silence  that  positively  made 
Belding  nervous. 

Then  Elsie  Gale  stepped  close  to  Nell. 

24* 


DESERT   GOLD 

"Miss  Burton,  are  you  really  Richard's  betrothed?" 

Nell's  tremulous  lips  framed  an  affirmative,  but  never 
uttered  it.  She  held  out  her  hand,  showing  the  ring 
Dick  had  given  her.  Miss  Gale's  recognition  was  instant, 
and  her  response  was  warm,  sweet,  gracious. 

"I  think  I  am  going  to  be  very,  very  glad,"  she  said, 
and  kissed  Nell. 

"Miss  Burton,  we  are  learning  wonderful  things  about 
Richard,"  added  Mr.  Gale,  in  an  earnest  though  shaken 
voice.  "If  you  have  had  to  do  with  making  a  man  of 
him — and  now  I  begin  to  see,  to  believe  so — may  God 
bless  you ! . . .  My  dear  girl,  I  have  not  really  looked  at 
you.  Richard's  fiancee ! . . .  Mother,  we  have  not  found 
him  yet,  but  I  think  we've  found  his  secret.  We  believed 
him  a  lost  son.  But  here  is  his  sweetheart !" 

It  was  only  then  that  the  pride  and  hauteur  of  Mrs. 
Gale's  face  broke  into  an  expression  of  mingled  paki  and 
joy.  She  opened  her  arms.  Nell,  uttering  a  strange 
little  stifled  cry,  flew  into  them. 

Belding  suddenly  discovered  an  unaccountable  blut 
in  his  sight.  He  could  not  see  perfectly,  and  that  was 
why,  when  Mrs.  Belding  entered  the  sitting-room,  he  was 
not  certain  that  her  face  was  as  sad  and  white  as  it 
setmed. 


XV 

BOUND   IN   THE   DESERT 

FAR  away  from  Forlorn  River  Dick  Gale  sat  stunned, 
gazing  down  into  the  purple  depths  where  Rojas 
had  plunged  to  his  death.  The  Yaqui  stood  motionless 
upon  the  steep  red  wall  of  lava  from  which  he  had  cut  the 
bandit's  hold.  Mercedes  lay  quietly  where  she  had 
fallen.  From  across  the  depths  there  came  to  Gale's 
ear  the  Indian's  strange,  wild  cry. 

Then  silence,  hollow,  breathless,  stony  silence  en 
veloped  the  great  abyss  and  its  upheaved  lava  walls. 
The  sun  was  setting.  Every  instant  the  haze  reddened 
and  thickened. 

Action  on  the  part  of  the  Yaqui  loosened  the  spell 
which  held  Gale  as  motionless  as  his  surroundings.  The 
Indian  was  edging  back  toward  the  ledge.  He  did  not 
move  with  his  former  lithe  and  sure  freedom.  He  crawled, 
slipped,  dragged  himself,  rested  often,  and  went  on  again. 
He  had  been  wounded.  When  at  last  he  reached  the 
ledge  where  Mercedes  lay  Gale  jumped  to  his  feet,  strong 
and  thrilling,  spurred  to  meet  the  responsibility  that  now 
rested  upon  him. 

Swiftly  he  turned  to  where  Thorne  lay.  The  cavalry 
man  was  just  returning  to  consciousness.  Gale  ran  for  a 
canteen,  bathed  his  face,  made  him  drink.  The  look  in 
Thome's  eyes  was  hard  to  bear. 

"Thorne!  Thorne!  it's  all  right,  it's  all  right!"  cried 
Gale,  in  piercing  tones.  "Mercedes  is  safe!  Yaqui 
saved  her!  Rojas  is  done  for!  Yaqui  jumped  down  the 
wall  and  drove  the  bandit  off  the  ledge.  Cut  him  loose 

247 


DESERT   GOLD 

from  the  wall,  foot  by  foot,  hand  by  hand !   We've  won 
the  fight,  Thorne." 

For  Thorne  these  were  marvelous  strength-giving 
words.  The  dark  horror  left  his  eyes,  and  they  began  to 
dilate,  to  shine.  He  stood  up,  dizzily  but  unaided,  and 
he  gazed  across  the  crater.  Yaqui  had  reached  the  side 
of  Mercedes,  was  bending  over  her.  She  stirred.  Yaqui 
lifted  her  to  her  feet.  She  appeared  weak,  unable  to  stand 
alone.  But  she  faced  across  the  crater  and  waved  her 
hand.  She  was  unharmed.  Thorne  lifted  both  arms 
above  his  head,  and  from  his  lips  issued  a  cry.  It  was 
neither  call  nor  holloa  nor  welcome  nor  answer.  Like 
the  Yaqui's,  it  could  scarcely  be  named.  But  it  was  deep, 
husky,  prolonged,  terribly  human  in  its  intensity.  It 
made  Gale  shudder  and  made  his  heart  beat  like  a  trip 
hammer.  Mercedes  again  waved  a  white  hand.  The 
Yaqui  waved,  too,  and  Gale  saw  in  the  action  an  urgent 
signal. 

Hastily  taking  up  canteen  and  rifles,  Gale  put  a  sup 
porting  arm  around  Thorne. 

"Come,  old  man.  Can  you  walk?  Sure  you  can  walk! 
Lean  on  me,  and  we'll  soon  get  out  of  this.  Don't  look 
across.  Look  where  you  step.  We've  not  much  time 
before  dark.  Oh,  Thorne,  I'm  afraid  Jim  has  cashed  in! 
And  the  last  I  saw  of  Laddy  he  was  badly  hurt." 

Gale  was  keyed  up  to  a  high  pitch  of  excitement  and 
alertness.  He  seemed  to  be  able  to  do  many  things. 
But  once  off  the  ragged  notched  lava  into  the  trail  he  had 
not  such  difficulty  with  Thorne,  and  could  keep  his  keen 
gaze  shifting  everywhere  for  sight  of  enemies. 

"Listen,  Thorne!  What's  that?"  asked  Gale,  halting 
as  they  came  to  a  place  where  the  trail  led  down  through 
rough  breaks  in  the  lava.  The  silence  was  broken  by  a 
strange  sound,  almost  unbelievable  considering  the  time 
and  place.  A  voice  was  droning:  "Turn  the  lady,  turn! 
Turn  the  lady,  turn!  Alamon  left.  All  swing;  turn  the 
fedy,  turn!" 

248 


BOUND    IN   THE    DESERT 

"Hello,  Jim,"  called  Gale,  dragging  Thorne  round  the 
corner  of  lava.  "Where  are  you  ?  Oh,  you  son  of  a  gun ! 
I  thought  you  were  dead.  Oh,  I'm  glad  to  see  you! 
Jim,  are  you  hurt?" 

Jim  Lash  stood  in  the  trail  leaning  over  the  butt  of  his 
rifle,  which  evidently  he  was  utilizing  as  a  crutch.  He  was 
pale  but  smiling.  His  hands  were  bloody.  A  scarf  had 
been  bound  tightly  round  his  left  leg  just  above  the  knee. 
The  leg  hung  limp,  and  the  foot  dragged. 

"I  reckon  I  ain't  injured  much,"  replied  Jim.  "But 
my  leg  hurts  like  hell,  if  you  want  to  know." 

"Laddy!    Oh,  where's  Laddy?" 

"He's  just  across  the  crack  there.  I  was  trying  to  get 
to  him.  We  had  it  hot  an'  heavy  down  here.  Laddy  was 
pretty  bad  shot  up  before  he  tried  to  head  Rojas  off  the 
trail Dick,  did  you  see  the  Yaqui  go  after  Rojas?" 

"Did  I !"  exclaimed  Gale,  grimly. 

"The  finish  was  all  that  saved  me  from  runnin'  loco 
plumb  over  the  rim.  You  see  I  was  closer'n  you  to  where 
Mercedes  was  hid.  When  Rojas  an*  his  last  Greaser 
started  across,  Laddy  went  after  them,  but  I  couldn't 
Laddy  did  for  Rojas's  man,  then  went  down  himself. 
But  he  got  up  an'  fell,  got  up,  went  on,  an*  fell  again. 
Laddy  kept  doin'  that  till  he  dropped  for  good.  I  reckon 
our  chances  are  against  findin'  him  alive. ...  I  tell  you, 
boys,  Rojas  was  hell-bent.  An'  Mercedes  was  game. 
I  saw  her  shoot  him.  But  mebbe  bullets  couldn't  stop 
him  then.  If  I  didn't  sweat  blood  when  Mercedes  was 
fightin'  him  on  the  cliff!  Then  the  finish!  Only  a  Yaqui 
could  have  done  that Thorne,  you  didn't  miss  it?" 

"Yes,  I  was  down  and  out,"  replied  the  cavalryman. 

"It's  a  shame.  Greatest  stunt  I  ever  seen!  Thorne, 
you're  standin'  up  pretty  fair.  How  about  you?  Dick, 
is  he  bad  hurt  ?" 

"No,  he's  not.  A  hard  knock  on  the  skull  and  a  scalp 
wound,"  replied  Dick.  "Here,  Jim,  let  me  help  you 
over  this  place." 

24Q 


DESERT   GOLD 

Step  by  step  Gale  got  the  two  injured  men  down  the 
uneven  declivity  and  then  across  the  narrow  lava  bridge 
over  the  fissure.  Here  he  bade  them  rest  while  he  went 
along  the  trail  on  that  side  to  search  for  Laddy.  Gale 
found  the  ranger  stretched  out,  face  downward,  a  red 
dened  hand  clutching  a  gun.  Gale  thought  he  was  dead. 
Upon  examination,  however,  it  was  found  that  Ladd  still 
lived,  though  he  had  many  wounds.  Gale  lifted  him  and 
carried  him  back  to  the  others. 

"He's  alive,  but  that's  all,"  said  Dick,  as  he  laid  the 
ranger  down.  "Do  what  you  can.  Stop  the  blood. 
Laddy's  tough  as  cactus,  you  know.  I'll  hurry  back  for 
Mercedes  and  Yaqui." 

Gale,  like  a  fleet,  sure-footed  mountain  sheep,  ran  along 
the  trail.  When  he  came  across  the  Mexican,  Rojas's 
last  ally,  Gale  had  evidence  of  the  terrible  execution  of  the 
405.  He  did  not  pause.  On  the  first  part  of  that  descent 
he  made  faster  time  than  had  Rojas.  But  he  exercised 
care  along  the  hard,  slippery,  ragged  slope  leading  to  the 
ledge.  Presently  he  came  upon  Mercedes  and  the  Yaqui. 
She  ran  right  into  Dick's  arms,  and  there  her  strength, 
if  not  her  courage,  broke,  and  she  grew  lax. 

"Mercedes,  you're  safe!  Thome's  safe.  It's  all  right 
now." 

"Rojas!"  she  whispered. 

"Gone!  To  the  bottom  of  the  crater!  A  Yaquir 
vengeance,  Mercedes." 

He  heard  the  girl  whisper  the  name  of  the  Virgin. 
Then  he  gathered  her  up  in  his  arms. 

"Come,  Yaqui." 

The  Indian  grunted.  He  had  one  hand  pressed  close 
*$ver  a  bloody  place  in  his  shoulder.  Gale  looked  keenly 
at  him.  Yaqui  was  inscrutable,  as  of  old,  yet  Gale  some 
how  knew  that  wound  meant  little  to  him.  The  Indian 
followed  him. 

Without  pausing,  moving  slowly  in  some  places,  very 
carefully  in  others,  and  swiftly  on  the  smooth  part  of  the 

250 


BOUND    IN   THE    DESERT 

trail,  Gale  carried  Mercedes  up  to  the  rim  and  along  to 
the  others.  Jim  Lash  worked  awkwardly  over  Ladd. 
Thome  was  trying  to  assist.  Ladd,  himself,  was  conscious, 
but  he  was  a  pallid,  apparently  a  death-stricken  man. 
The  greeting  between  Mercedes  and  Thorne  was  calm — 
strangely  so,  it  seemed  to  Gale.  But  he  was  now  calm 
himself.  Ladd  smiled  at  him,  and  evidently  would  have 
spoken  had  he  the  power.  Yaqui  then  joined  the  group, 
and  his  piercing  eyes  roved  from  one  to  the  other,  linger 
ing  longest  over  Ladd. 

"Dick,  I'm  figger'n'  hard,"  said  Jim,  faintly.  "In  a 
minute  it  '11  be  up  to  you  an*  Mercedes.  I've  about 

shot  my  bolt Reckon  you'll  do — best  by  bringin'  up 

blankets  —  water  —  salt  —  firewood.  Laddy's  got  —  one 
chance — in  a  hundred.  Fix  him  up — first.  Use  hot  salt 
water.  If  my  leg's  broken — set  it  best  you  can.  That 
hole  in  Yaqui — only  '11  bother  him  a  day.  Thome's  bad 
hurt.  .  .  .  Now  rustle — Dick,  old — boy." 

Lash's  voice  died  away  in  a  husky  whisper,  and  he 
quietly  lay  back,  stretching  out  all  but  the  crippled  leg. 
Gale  examined  it,  assured  himself  the  bones  had  not  been 
broken,  and  then  rose  ready  to  go  down  the  trail. 

"Mercedes,  hold  Thome's  head  up,  in  your  lap — so. 
Now  I'll  go." 

On  the  moment  Yaqui  appeared  to  have  completed  the 
binding  of  his  wounded  shoulder,  and  he  started  to  follow 
Gale.  He  paid  no  attention  to  Gale's  order  for  him  to  stay 
back.  But  he  was  slow,  and  gradually  Gale  forged  ahead. 
The  lingering  brightness  of  the  sunset  lightened  the  trail, 
and  the  descent  to  the  arroyo  was  swift  and  easy.  Some, 
of  the  white  horses  had  come  in  for  water.  Blanco  So* 
spied  Gale  and  whistled  and  came  pounding  toward  him. 
It  was  twilight  down  in  the  arroyo.  Yaqui  appeared  and 
began  collecting  a  bundle  of  mesquite  sticks.  Gale 
hastily  put  together  the  things  he  needed;  and,  packing 
them  all  in  a  tarpaulin,  he  turned  to  retrace  his  steps  up 
the  trail 


DESERT  GOLD 

Darkness  was  setting  in.  The  trail  was  narrow,  ex 
ceedingly  steep,  and  in  some  places  fronted  on  precipices. 
Gale's  burden  was  not  very  heavy,  but  its  bulk  made  it 
unwieldy,  and  it  was  always  overbalancing  him  or  knock 
ing  against  the  wall  side  of  the  trail.  Gale  found  it 
necessary  to  wait  for  Yaqui  to  take  the  lead.  The  In 
dian's  eyes  must  have  seen  as  well  at  night  as  by  day. 
Gale  toiled  upward,  shouldering,  swinging,  dragging  the 
big  pack;  and,  though  the  ascent  of  the  slope  was  not 
really  long,  it  seemed  endless.  At  last  they  reached  a 
level,  and  were  soon  on  the  spot  with  Mercedes  and  the 
injured  men. 

Gale  then  set  to  work.  Yaqui's  part  was  to  keep  the 
fire  blazing  and  the  water  hot,  Mercedes's  to  help  Gale 
in  what  way  she  could.  Gale  found  Ladd  had  many 
wounds,  yet  not  one  of  them  was  directly  in  a  vital  place. 
Evidently,  the  ranger  had  almost  bled  to  death.  He  re 
mained  unconscious  through  Gale's  operations.  Accord 
ing  to  Jim  Lash,  Ladd  had  one  chance  in  a  hundred,  but 
Gale  considered  it  one  in  a  thousand.  Having  done  all 
that  was  possible  for  the  ranger,  Gale  slipped  blankets 
under  and  around  him,  and  then  turned  his  attention  to 
Lash. 

Jim  came  out  of  his  stupor.  A  mushrooming  bullet 
had  torn  a  great  hole  in  his  leg.  Gale,  upon  examination, 
could  not  be  sure  the  bones  had  been  missed,  but  there  was 
no  bad  break.  The  application  of  hot  salt  water  made 
Jim  groan.  When  he  had  been  bandaged  and  laid  beside 
;Ladd,  Gale  went  on  to  the  cavalryman.  Thorne  was  very 
weak  and  scarcely  conscious.  A  furrow  had  been  plowed 
through  his  scalp  down  to  the  bone.  When  it  had  been 
dressed,  Mercedes  collapsed.  Gale  laid  her  with  the  three 
in  a  row  and  covered  them  with  blankets  and  the  tar 
paulin. 

Then  Yaqui  submitted  to  examination.  A  bullet  had 
gone  through  the  Indian's  shoulder.  To  Gale  it  appeared 
serious.  Yaqui  said  it  was  a  flea  bite.  But  he  allowed 

252 


BOUND    I  IN    THE    DESERT 

Gale  to  bandage  it,  and  obeyed  when  he  was  told  to  lie 
quiet  in  his  blanket  beside  the  fire. 

Gale  stood  guard.  He  seemed  still  calm,  and  wondered 
at  what  he  considered  a  strange  absence  of  poignant  feel 
ing.  If  he  had  felt  weariness  it  was  now  gone.  He  coaxed 
the  fire  with  as  little  wood  as  would  keep  it  burning ;  he 
sat  beside  it ;  he  walked  to  and  fro  close  by ;  sometimes  he 
stood  over  the  five  sleepers,  wondering  if  two  of  them,  at 
least,  would  ever  awaken. 

Time  had  passed  swiftly,  but  as  the  necessity  for  im 
mediate  action  had  gone  by,  the  hours  gradually  assumed 
something  of  their  normal  length.  The  night  wore  on. 
The  air  grew  colder,  the  stars  brighter,  the  sky  bluer,  and, 
if  such  could  be  possible,  the  silence  more  intense.  The 
fire  burned  out,  and  for  lack  of  wood  could  not  be  re 
kindled.  Gale  patrolled  his  short  beat,  becoming  colder 
and  damper  as  dawn  approached.  The  darkness  grew  so. 
dense  that  he  could  not  see  the  pale  faces  of  the  sleepers. 
He  dreaded  the  gray  dawn  and  the  light.  Slowly  the 
heavy  black  belt  close  to  the  lava  changed  to  a  pale  gloom, 
then  to  gray,  and  after  that  morning  came  quickly. 

The  hour  had  come  for  Dick  Gale  to  face  his  great  prob 
lem.  It  was  natural  that  he  hung  back  a  little  at  first; 
natural  that  when  he  went  forward  to  look  at  the  quiet 
sleepers  he  did  so  with  a  grim  and  stern  force  urging  him. 
Yaqui  stirred,  roused,  yawned,  got  up ;  and,  though  he  did 
not  smile  at  Gale,  a  light  shone  swiftly  across  his  dark 
face.  His  shoulder  drooped  and  appeared  stiff,  otherwise 
he  was  himself.  Mercedes  lay  in  deep  slumber.  Thorne 
had  a  high  fever,  and  was  beginning  to  show  signs  of 
restlessness.  Ladd  seemed  just  barely  alive.  Jim  Lash 
slept  as  if  he  was  not  much  the  worse  for  his  wound. 

Gale  rose  from  his  examination  with  a  sharp  breaking 
of  his  cold  mood.  While  there  was  life  in  Thorne  and 
Ladd  there  was  hope  for  them.  Then  he  faced  his  prob 
lem,  and  his  decision  was  instant. 

He  awoke  Mercedes.    How  wondering,  wistful,  beau 

253 


DESERT    GOLD 

tiful  was  that  first  opening  flash  of  her  eyes!  Then  the 
dark,  troubled  thought  came.  Swiftly  she  sat  up. 

"Mercedes — come.  Are  you  all  right?  Laddy  is  alive. 
Thome's  not — not  so  bad.  But  we've  got  a  job  on  our 
hands !  You  must  help  me." 

She  bent  over  Thorne  and  laid  her  hands  on  his  hot  face. 
Then  she  rose — a  woman  such  as  he  had  imagined  she 
might  be  in  an  hour  of  trial. 

Gale  took  up  Ladd  as  carefully  and  gently  as  possible. 

"Mercedes,  bring  what  you  can  carry  and  follow  me," 
he  said.  Then,  motioning  for  Yaqui  to  remain  there,  he 
turned  down  the  slope  with  Ladd  in  his  arms. 

Neither  pausing  nor  making  a  misstep  nor  conscious  of 
great  effort,  Gale  carried  the  wounded  man  down  into  the 
arroyo.  Mercedes  kept  at  his  heels,  light,  supple,  lithe  as 
a  panther.  He  left  her  with  Ladd  and  went  back.  When 
he  had  started  off  with  Thorne  in  his  arms  he  felt  the  tax 
on  his  strength.  Surely  and  swiftly,  however,  he  bore  the 
cavalryman  down  the  trail  to  lay  him  beside  Ladd.  Again 
he  started  back,  and  when  he  began  to  mount  the  steep 
lava  steps  he  was  hot,  wet,  breathing  hard.  As  he  reached 
the  scene  of  that  night's  camp  a  voice  greeted  him.  Jim 
Lash  was  sitting  up. 

"Hello,  Dick.  I  woke  some  late  this  mornin*.  Where's 
Laddy?  Dick,  you  ain't  a-goin'  to  say — " 

"Laddy's  alive — that's  about  all,"  replied  Dick. 

" Where's  Thorne  an*  Mercedes?  Look  here,  man! 
I  reckon  you  ain't  packin'  this  crippled  outfit  down  that 
awful  trail?" 

"Had  to,  Jim.  An  hour's  sun — would  kill — both  Laddy 
and  Thorne.  Come  on  now." 

For  once  Jim  Lash's  cool  good  nature  and  careless  in 
difference  gave  precedence  to  amaze  and  concern. 

"Always  knew  you  was  a  husky  chap.  But,  Dick, 
you're  no  hoss !  Get  me  a  crutch  an*  give  me  a  lift  on 
one  side." 

"Come  on,"  replied  Gale.    "I've  no  time  to  monkey." 

254 


BOUND    IN   THE    DESERT 

He  lifted  the  ranger,  called  to  Yaqui  to  follow  with  some 
of  the  camp  outfit,  and  once  more  essayed  the  steep  de 
scent.  Jim  Lash  was  the  heaviest  man  of  the  three,  and 
Gale's  strength  was  put  to  enormous  strain  to  carry  him 
on  that  broken  trail.  Nevertheless,  Gale  went  down, 
down,  walking  swiftly  and  surely  over  the  bad  places; 
and  at  last  he  staggered  into  the  arroyo  with  bursting 
heart  and  red-blinded  eyes.  When  he  had  recovered  he 
made  a  final  trip  up  the  slope  for  the  camp  effects  which 
Yaqui  had  been  unable  to  carry. 

Then  he  drew  Jim  and  Mercedes  and  Yaqui,  also,  into 
an  earnest  discussion  of  ways  and  means  whereby  to  fight 
for  the  life  of  Thorne.  Ladd's  case  Gale  now  considered 
hopeless,  though  he  meant  to  fight  for  him,  too,  as  long  as 
he  breathed. 

In  the  labor  of  watching  and  nursing  it  seemed  to  Gale 
that  two  days  and  two  nights  slipped  by  like  a  few  hours. 
During  that  time  the  Indian  recovered  from  his  injury, 
and  became  capable  of  performing  all  except  heavy  tasks. 
Then  Gale  succumbed  to  weariness.  After  his  much- 
needed  rest  he  relieved  Mercedes  of  the  care  and  watch 
over  Thorne  which,  up  to  that  time,  she  had  absolutely 
refused  to  relinquish.  The  cavalryman  had  high  fever, 
and  Gale  feared  he  had  developed  blood  poisoning.  He 
required  constant  attention.  His  condition  slowly  grew 
worse,  and  there  came  a  day  which  Gale  thought  surely 
was  the  end.  But  that  day  passed,  and  the  night,  and  the 
next  day,  and  Thorne  lived  on,  ghastly,  stricken,  raving. 
Mercedes  hung  over  him  with  jealous,  passionate  care  and 
did  all  that  could  have  been  humanly  done  for  a  man. 
She  grew  wan,  absorbed,  silent.  But  suddenly,  and  to 
Gale's  amaze  and  thanksgiving,  there  came  an  abatement 
of  Thome's  fever.  With  it  some  of  the  heat  and  redness 
of  the  inflamed  wound  disappeared.  Next  morning  he  was 
conscious,  and  Gale  grasped  some  of  the  hope  that  Mer 
cedes  had  never  abandoned.  He  forced  her  to  rest  while 
he  attended  to  Thorne.  That  day  he  saw  that  the  crisis 

255 


DESERT   GOLD 

was  past.  Recovery  for  Thorne  was  now  possible,  and 
would  perhaps  depend  entirely  upon  the  care  he  received. 

Jim  Lash's  wound  healed  without  any  aggravating 
symptoms.  It  would  be  only  a  matter  of  time  until  he 
had  the  use  of  his  leg  again.  All  these  days,  however, 
there  was  little  apparent  change  in  Ladd's  condition, 
unless  it  was  that  he  seemed  to  fade  away  as  he  lingered. 
At  first  his  wounds  remained  open ;  they  bled  a  little  all 
the  time  outwardly,  perhaps  internally  also ;  his  blood  did 
not  seem  to  clot,  and  so  the  bullet  holes  did  not  close. 
Then  Yaqui  asked  for  the  care  of  Ladd.  Gale  yielded  it 
with  opposing  thoughts — that  Ladd  would  waste  slowly 
away  till  life  ceased,  and  that  there  never  was  any  telling 
what  might  lie  in  the  power  of  this  strange  Indian.  Yaqui 
absented  himself  from  camp  for  a  while,  and  when  he  re 
turned  he  carried  the  roots  and  leaves  of  desert  plants 
unknown  to  Gale.  From  these  the  Indian  brewed  an 
ointment.  Then  he  stripped  the  bandages  from  Ladd 
and  applied  the  mixture  to  his  wounds.  That  done,  he 
let  him  lie  with  the  wounds  exposed  to  the  air,  at  night 
covering  him.  Next  day  he  again  exposed  the  wounds  to 
the  warm,  dry  air.  Slowly  they  closed,  and  Ladd  ceased 
to  bleed  externally. 

Days  passed  and  grew  into  what  Gale  imagined  must 
have  been  weeks.  Yaqui  recovered  fully.  Jim  Lash 
began  to  move  about  on  a  crutch ;  he  shared  the  Indian's 
watch  over  Ladd.  Thorne  lay  a  haggard,  emaciated 
ghost  of  his  former  rugged  self,  but  with  life  in  the  eyes 
that  turned  always  toward  Mercedes.  Ladd  lingered  and 
lingered.  The  life  seemingly  would  not  leave  his  bullet- 
pierced  body.  He  faded,  withered,  shrunk  till  he  was  al 
most  a  skeleton.  He  knew  those  who  worked  and  watched 
over  him,  but  he  had  no  power  of  speech.  His  eyes  and 
eyelids  moved;  the  rest  of  him  seemed  stone.  All  those 
days  nothing  except  water  was  given  him.  It  was  mar 
velous  how  tenaciously,  however  feebly,  he  clung  to  life. 
Gale  imagined  it  was  the  Yaqui's  spirit  that  held  back 

256 


BOUND    IN    THE    DESERT 

death.  That  tireless,  implacable,  inscrutable  savage  was 
ever  at  the  ranger's  side.  His  great  somber  eyes  burned. 
At  length  he  went  to  Gale,  and,  with  that  strange  light 
flitting  across  the  hard  bronzed  face,  he  said  Ladd  would 
live. 

The  second  day  after  Ladd  had  been  given  such  thitf 
nourishment  as  he  could  swallow  he  recovered  the  use  of 
his  tongue. 

"Shore— this's— hell,"  he  whispered. 

That  was  a  characteristic  speech  for  the  ranger,  Gale 
thought ;  and  indeed  it  made  all  who  heard  it  smile  while 
their  eyes  were  wet. 

From  that  time  forward  Ladd  gained,  but  he  gained  so 
immeasurably  slowly  that  only  the  eyes  of  hope  could 
have  seen  any  improvement.  Jim  Lash  threw  away  his 
crutch,  and  Thorne  was  well,  if  still  somewhat  weak,  be 
fore  Ladd  could  lift  his  arm  or  turn  his  head.  A  kind  of 
long,  immovable  gloom  passed,  like  a  shadow,  from  his 
face.  His  whispers  grew  stronger.  And  the  day  arrived 
wnen  Gale,  who  was  perhaps  the  least  optimistic,  threw 
doubt  to  the  winds  and  knew  the  ranger  would  get  well. 
For  Gale  that  joyous  moment  of  realization  was  one  in 
which  he  seemed  to  return  to  a  former  self  long  absent. 
He  experienced  an  elevation  of  soul.  He  was  suddenly 
overwhelmed  with  gratefulness,  humility,  awe.  A  gloomy 
black  terror  had  passed  by.  He  wanted  to  thank  the 
faithful  Mercedes,  and  Thorne  for  getting  well,  and  the 
cheerful  Lash,  and  Ladd  himself,  and  that  strange  and 
wonderful  Yaqui,  now  such  a  splendid  figure.  He  thought 
of  home  and  Nell.  The  terrible  encompassing  red  slopes 
lost  something  of  their  fearsomeness,  and  there  was  a 
good  spirit  hovering  near. 

"Boys,  come  round,"  said  Ladd,  in  his  low  voice.  4'An' 
you,  Mercedes.    An*  call  the  Yaqui." 
Ladd  lay  in  the  shade  of  the  brush  shelter  that  had  beer? 

257 


DESERT   GOLD 

erected.  His  head  was  raised  slightly  on  a  pillow.  There 
seemed  little  of  him  but  long  lean  lines,  and  if  it  had  not 
been  for  his  keen,  thoughtful,  kindly  eyes,  his  face  would 
have  resembled  a  death  mask  of  a  man  starved. 

"Shore  I  want  to  know  what  day  is  it  an'  what  month?" 
asked  Ladd. 

Nobody  could  answer  him.  The  question  seemed  a 
surprise  to  Gale,  and  evidently  was  so  to  the  others. 

"Look  at  that  cactus,"  went  on  Ladd. 

Near  the  wall  of  lava  a  stunted  saguaro  lifted  its  head. 

A  few  shriveled  blossoms  that  had  once  been  white 
hung  along  the  fluted  column. 

"I  reckon  according  to  that  giant  cactus  it's  some- 
wheres  along  the  end  of  March,"  said  Jim  Lash,  soberly. 

"Shore  it's  April.  Look  where  the  sun  is.  An'  can't 
you  feel  it's  gettin*  hot?" 

"Supposin'  it  is  April  ?"queried  Lash,  slowly. 

"Well,  what  I'm  drivin'  at  is  it's  about  time  you  all 
was  hittin*  the  trail  back  to  Forlorn  River,  before  the 
waterholes  dry  out." 

"Laddy,  I  reckon  we'll  start  soon  as  you're  able  to  be 
put  on  a  hoss." 

"Shore  that  '11  be  too  late." 

A  silence  ensued,  in  which  those  who  heard  Ladd  gazed 
fixedly  at  him  and  then  at  one  another.  Lash  uneasily 
shifted  the  position  of  his  lame  leg,  and  Gale  saw  him 
moisten  his  lips  with  his  tongue. 

"Charlie  Ladd,  I  ain't  reckonin*  you  mean  we're  to 
ride  off  an'  leave  you  here  ?" 

"What  else  is  there  to  do?  The  hot  weather's  close. 
Pretty  soon  most  of  the  waterholes  will  be  dry.  You 

can't  travel  then I'm  on  my  back  here,  an*  God 

only  knows  when  I  could  be  packed  out.  Not  for  weeks, 
mebbe.  I'll  never  be  any  good  again,  even  if  I  was  to  get 
out  alive. . , .  You  see,  shore  this  sort  of  case  comes  round 
sometimes  in  the  desert.  It's  common  enough.  I've 
heard  of  several  cases  where  men  had  to  go  an'  leave  a 

258 


BOUND    IN   THE    DESERT 

feller  behind.  It's  reasonable.  If  you're  fightin'  the 

desert  you  can't  afford  to  be  sentimental Now,  as  I 

said,  I'm  all  in.  So  what's  the  sense  of  you  waitin'  here, 
when  it  means  the  old  desert  story?  By  goin'  now 
mebbe  you'll  get  home.  If  you  wait  on  a  chance  of  takin' 
me,  you'll  be  too  late.  Pretty  soon  this  lava'll  be  one 
roastin'  hell.  Shore  now,  boys,  you'll  see  this  the  right 
way  ?  Jim,  old  pard  ?" 

"No,  Laddy,  an'  I  can't  rigger  how  you  could  ever  ask 
me." 

"Shore  then  leave  me  here  with  Yaqui  an'  a  couple  of 
the  hosses.  We  can  eat  sheep  meat.  An'  if  the  water 
holds  out—" 

"No!"  interrupted  Lash,  violently. 

Ladd's  eyes  sought  Gale's  face. 

"Son,  you  ain't  bull-headed  like  Jim.  You'll  see  the 
sense  of  it.  There's  Nell  a- waitin'  back  at  Forlorn  River. 
Think  what  it  means  to  her !  She's  a  damn  fine  girl,  Dick, 
an*  what  right  have  you  to  break  her  heart  for  an  old 
worn-out  cowpuncher?  Think  how  she's  watchin'  for 
you  with  that  sweet  face  all  sad  an'  troubled,  an'  her  eyes 
turnin*  black.  You'll  go,  son,  won't  you?" 

Dick  shook  his  head. 

The  ranger  turned  his  gaze  upon  Thorne,  and  now  the 
keen,  glistening  light  in  his  gray  eyes  had  blurred. 

"Thorne,  it's  different  with  you.  Jim's  a  fool,  an* 
young  Gale  has  been  punctured  by  choya  thorns.  He's 
got  the  desert  poison  in  his  blood.  But  you  now — you've 
no  call  to  stick — you  can  find  that  trail  out.  It's  easy 
to  follow,  made  by  so  many  shod  hosses.  Take  your 
wife  an*  go. . . .  Shore  you'll  go,  Thorne?" 

Deliberately  and  without  an  instant's  hesitation  the 
cavalryman  replied  "No." 

Ladd  then  directed  his  appeal  to  Mercedes.  His  face 
was  now  convulsed,  and  his  voice,  though  it  had  sunk  to  a 
whisper,  was  clear,  and  beautiful  with  some  rich  quality 
that  Gale  had  never  before  heard  in  it. 

259 


DESERT    GOLD 

"Mercedes,  you're  a  woman.  You're  the  woman  we 
fought  for.  An'  some  of  us  are  shore  goin'  to  die  for  you. 
Don't  make  it  all  for  nothin'.  Let  us  feel  we  saved  the 
woman.  Shore  you  can  make  Thorne  go.  He'll  have  to 
go  if  you  say.  They'll  all  have  to  go.  Think  of  the 
years  of  love  an'  happiness  in  store  for  you.  A  week  or 
so  an*  it'll  be  too  late.  Can  you  stand  for  me  seein'  you? 
. . .  Let  me  tell  you,  Mercedes,  when  the  summer  heat  hits 
the  lava  we'll  all  wither  an'  curl  up  like  shavin's  near  a 
fire.  A  wind  of  hell  will  blow  up  this  slope.  Look  at 
them  mesquites.  See  the  twist  in  them.  That's  the 
torture  of  heat  an*  thirst.  Do  you  want  me  or  all  us  men 
seein'  you  like  that  ? . . .  Mercedes,  don't  make  it  all  for 
nothin'.  Say  you'll  persuade  Thorne,  if  not  the  others.'' 

For  all  the  effect  his  appeal  had  to  move  her  Mercedes 
might  have  possessed  a  heart  as  hard  and  fixed  as  the 
surrounding  lava. 

"Never!" 

White-faced,  with  great  black  eyes  flashing,  the  Span 
ish  girl  spoke  the  word  that  bound  her  and  her  com 
panions  in  the  desert. 

The  subject  was  never  mentioned  again.  Gale  thought 
that  he  read  a  sinister  purpose  in  Ladd's  mind.  To  his 
astonishment,  Lash  came  to  him  with  the  same  fancy. 
After  that  they  made  certain  there  never  was  a  gun 
within  reach  of  Ladd's  clutching,  clawlike  hands. 

Gradually  a  somber  spell  lifted  from  the  ranger's  mind. 
When  he  was  entirely  free  of  it  he  began  to  gather  strength 
daily.  Then  it  was  as  if  he  had  never  known  patience — 
he  who  had  shown  so  well  how  to  wait.  He  was  in  a 
frenzy  to  get  well.  His  appetite  could  not  be  satisfied. 

The  sun  climbed  higher,  whiter,  hotter.  At  midday  a 
wind  from  gulf  ward  roared  up  the  arroyo,  and  now  only 
the  palo  verdes  and  the  few  saguaros  were  green.  Every 
day  the  water  in  the  lava  hole  sank  an  inch. 

The  Yaqui  alone  spent  the  waiting  time  in  activity. 
He  made  trips  up  on  the  lava  slope,  and  each  time  he  re- 

260 


BOUND    IN   THE   DESERT 

turned  with  guns  or  boots  or'  sombreros,  or  something 
belonging  to  the  bandits  that  had  fallen.  He  never 
fetched  in  a  saddle  or  bridle,  and  from  that  the  rangers 
concluded  Rojas's  horses  had  long  before  taken  their  back 
trail.  What  speculation,  what  consternation  those  sad 
dled  horses  would  cause  if  they  returned  to  Forlorn  River ! 

As  Ladd  improved  there  was  one  story  he  had  to  hear 
every  day.  It  was  the  one  relating  to  what  he  had  missed 
— the  sight  of  Rojas  pursued  and  plunged  to  his  doom. 
The  thing  had  a  morbid  fascination  for  the  sick  ranger. 
He  reveled  in  it.  He  tortured  Mercedes.  His  gentle 
ness  and  consideration,  heretofore  so  marked,  were  in 
abeyance  to  some  sinister,  ghastly  joy.  But  to  humor  him 
Mercedes  racked  her  soul  with  the  sensations  she  had 
suffered  when  Rojas  hounded  her  out  on  the  ledge ;  when 
she  shot  him ;  when  she  sprang  to  throw  herself  over  the 
precipice ;  when  she  fought  him ;  when  with  half-blinded 
eyes  she  looked  up  to  see  the  merciless  Yaqui  reaching  for 
the  bandit.  Ladd  fed  his  cruel  longing  with  Thome's 
poignant  recollections,  with  the  keen,  clear,  never-to- 
be-forgotten  shocks  to  Gale's  eye  and  ear.  Jim  Lash,  for 
one  at  least,  never  tired  of  telling  how  he  had  seen  and 
heard  the  tragedy,  and  every  time  in  the  telling  it  gathered 
some  more  tragic  and  gruesome  detail.  Jim  believed  in 
satiating  the  ranger.  Then  in  the  twilight,  when  the  camp- 
fire  burned,  Ladd  would  try  to  get  the  Yaqui  to  tell  his 
side  of  the  story.  But  this  the  Indian  would  never  do. 
There  was  only  the  expression  of  his  fathomless  eyes  and 
the  set  passion  of  his  massive  face. 

Those  waiting  days  grew  into  weeks.  Ladd  gained  very 
slowly.  Nevertheless,  at  last  he  could  walk  about,  and 
soon  he  averred  that,  strapped  to  a  horse,  he  could  last 
out  the  trip  to  Forlorn  River. 

There  was  rejoicing  in  camp,  and  plans  were  eagerly 
suggested.  The  Yaqui  happened  to  be  absent.  When  he 
returned  the  rangers  told  him  they  were  now  ready  tc 
undertake  the  journey  back  across  lava  and  cacti*? 

261 


DESERT   GOLD 

Yaqui  shook  his  head.  They  declared  again  their  in 
tention. 

"No !"  replied  the  Indian,  and  his  deep,  sonorous  voice 
rolled  out  upon  the  quiet  of  the  arroyo.  He  spoke  briefly 
then.  They  had  waited  too  long.  The  smaller  water- 
holes  back  in  the  trail  were  dry.  The  hot  summer  was 
upon  them.  There  could  be  only  death  waiting  down 
in  the  burning  valley.  Here  was  water  and  grass  and  wood 
and  shade  from  the  sun's  rays,  and  sheep  to  be  killed  on 
the  peaks.  The  water  would  hold  unless  the  season  was 
that  dreaded  ano  seco  of  the  Mexicans. 

"Wait  for  rain/*  concluded  Yaqui,  and  now  as  never 
before  he  spoke  as  one  with  authority.  "If  no  rain — '* 
Silently  he  lifted  a  speaking  hand 


XVI 

MOUNTAIN  SHEEP 

XI7HAT  Gale  might  have  thought  an  appalling  situa 
VV  tion,  if  considered  from  a  safe  and  comfortable 
home  away  from  the  desert,  became,  now  that  he  was  shut 
in  by  the  red-ribbed  lava  walls  and  great  dry  wastes,  a 
matter  calmly  accepted  as  inevitable.  So  he  imagined  it 
was  accepted  by  the  others.  Not  even  Mercedes  uttered  a 
regret.  No  word  was  spoken  of  home.  If  there  was 
thought  of  loved  ones,  it  was  locked  deep  in  their  minds. 
In  Mercedes  there  was  no  change  in  womanly  quality, 
perhaps  because  all  she  had  to  love  was  there  in  the  desert 
with  her. 

Gale  had  often  pondered  over  this  singular  change  in 
character.  He  had  trained  himself,  in  order  to  fight  a 
paralyzing  something  in  the  desert's  influence,  to  oppose 
with  memory  and  thought  an  insidious  primitive  retro 
gression  to  what  was  scarcely  consciousness  at  all,  merely 
a  savage's  instinct  of  sight  and  sound.  He  felt  the  need 
now  of  redoubled  effort.  For  there  was  a  sheer  happiness 
in  drifting.  Not  only  was  it  easy  to  forget,  it  was  hard  to 
remember.  His  idea  was  that  a  man  laboring  under  a 
great  wrong,  a  great  crime,  a  great  passion  might  find  the 
lonely  desert  a  fitting  place  for  either  remembrance  or 
oblivion,  according  to  the  nature  of  his  soul.  But  an  or 
dinary,  healthy,  reasonably  happy  mortal  who  loved  the 
open  with  its  blaze  of  sun  and  sweep  of  wind  would  have 
a  task  to  keep  from  going  backward  to  the  natural  man  as 
he  was  before  civilization. 

By  tacit  agreement  Ladd  again  became  the  leader  «f 

263 


DESERT   GOLD 

the  party*  Ladd  was  a  man  who  would  have  taken  all 
the  responsibility  whether  or  not  it  was  given  him.  In 
moments  of  hazard,  of  uncertainty,  Lash  and  Gale,  even 
Belding,  unconsciously  looked  to  the  ranger.  He  had  that 
kind  of  power. 

The  first  thing  Ladd  asked  was  to  have  the  store  of 
food  that  remained  spread  out  upon  a  tarpaulin.  As 
suredly,  it  was  a  slender  enough  supply.  The  ranger  stood 
for  long  moments  gazing  down  at  it.  He  was  groping 
among  past  experiences,  calling  back  from  his  years  of 
life  on  range  and  desert  that  which  might  be  valuable  for 
the  present  issue.  It  was  impossible  to  read  the  gravity 
of  Ladd's  face,  for  he  still  looked  like  a  dead  man,  but  the 
slow  shake  of  his  head  told  Gale  much.  There  was  a 
grain  of  hope,  however,  in  the  significance  with  which  he 
touched  the  bags  of  salt  and  said,  "Shore  it  was  sense 
packin'  all  that  salt !" 

Then  he  turned  to  face  his  comrades. 

"That's  little  grub  for  six  starvin'  people  corralled  in 
the  desert  But  the  grub  end  ain't  worryin'  me.  Yaqui 
can  get  sheep  up  the  slopes.  Water !  That's  the  begin- 
nin'  an*  middle  an*  end  of  our  case." 

"Laddy,  I  reckon  the  waterhole  here  never  goes  dry," 
replied  Jim. 

"Ask  the  Indian." 

Upon  being  questioned,  Yaqui  repeated  what  he  had 
said  about  the  dreaded  ano  seco  of  the  Mexicans.  In  a 
dry  year  this  waterhole  failed. 

"Dick,  take  a  rope  an*  see  how  much  water's  in  the  hole." 

Gale  could  not  find  bottom  with  a  thirty  foot  lasso. 
The  water  was  as  cool,  clear,  sweet  as  if  it  had  been  kept 
in  a  shaded  iron  receptacle. 

Ladd  welcomed  this  information  with  surprise  and 
gladness. 

"Let's  see,     Last  year  was  shore  pretty  dry.     Mebbe 
this    summer   won't   be.      Mebbe   our   wonderful   good 
hold,     Ask  Yaqui  if  he  thinks  it'll  rain/' 
264 


MOUNTAIN    SHEEP 

Mercedes  questioned  the  Indian. 

"He  says  no  man  can  tell  surely.  But  he  thinks  the 
rain  will  come,"  she  replied. 

"  Shore  it'll  rain,  you  can  gamble  on  that  now,"  con 
tinued  Ladd.  "If  there's  only  grass  for  the  hosses !  We 
can't  get  out  of  here  without  hosses.  Dick,  take  the 
Indian  an'  scout  down  the  arroyo.  To-day  I  seen  the 
hosses  were  gettin'  fat.  Gettin'  fat  in  this  desert!  But 
mebbe  they've  about  grazed  up  all  the  grass.  Go  an* 
see,  Dick.  An*  may  you  come  back  with  more  good 
news!" 

Gale,  upon  the  few  occasions  when  he  had  wandered 
down  the  arroyo,  had  never  gone  far.  The  Yaqui  said 
there  was  grass  for  the  horses,  and  until  now  no  one  had 
given  the  question  more  consideration.  Gale  found  that 
the  arroyo  widened  as  it  opened.  Near  the  head,  where 
it  was  narrow,  the  grass  lined  the  course  of  the  dry  stream 
bed.  But  farther  down  this  stream  bed  spread  out. 
There  was  every  indication  that  at  flood  seasons  the  water 
covered  the  floor  of  the  arroyo.  The  farther  Gale  went 
the  thicker  and  larger  grew  the  gnarled  mesquites  and 
palo  verdes,  the  more  cactus  and  greasewood  there  were, 
and  other  desert  growths.  Patches  of  gray  grass  grew 
everywhere.  Gale  began  to  wonder  where  the  horses 
were.  Finally  the  trees  and  brush  thinned  out,  and  a 
mile-wide  gray  plain  stretched  down  to  reddish  sand 
dunes.  Over  to  one  side  were  the  white  horses,  and  even 
as  Gale  saw  them  both  Blanco  Diablo  and  Sol  lifted  their 
heads  and,  with  white  manes  tossing  in  the  wind,  whistled 
clarion  calls.  Here  was  grass  enough  for  many  horses; 
the  arroyo  was  indeed  an  oasis. 

Ladd  and  the  others  were  awaiting  Gale's  report,  and 
they  received  it  with  calmness,  yet  with  a  joy  no  less 
evident  because  it  was  restrained.  Gale,  in  his  keen 
observation  at  the  moment,  found  that  he  and  his  com 
rades  turned  with  glad  eyes  to  the  woman  of  the 
party. 

265 


DESERT  GOLD 

"Senor  Laddy,  you  think — you — believe — we  shall — " 
she  faltered,  and  her  voice  failed.  It  was  the  woman  in 
her,  weakening  in  the  light  of  real  hope,  of  the  happiness 
now  possible  beyond  that  desert  barrier. 

''Mercedes,  no  white  man  can  tell  what'll  come  to  pass 
out  here,"  said  Ladd,  earnestly.  "Shore  I  have  hopes 
now  I  never  dreamed  of.  I  was  pretty  near  a  dead  man. 
The  Indian  saved  me.  Queer  notions  have  come  into 
my  head  about  Yaqui.  I  don't  understand  them.  He 
seems  when  you  look  at  him  only  a  squalid,  sullen,  venge 
ful  savage.  But  Lord!  that's  far  from  truth.  Mebbe 
Yaqui's  different  from  most  Indians.  He  looks  the  same, 
though.  Mebbe  the  trouble  is  we  white  folks  never  knew 
the  Indian.  Anyway,  Beldin'  had  it  right.  Yaqui's 
our  godsend.  Now  as  to  the  future,  I'd  like  to  know 
mebbe  as  well  as  you  if  we're  ever  to  get  home.  Only 
bein'  what  I  am,  I  say  Quien  sabe?  But  somethin'  tells 
me  Yaqui  knows.  Ask  him,  Mercedes.  Make  him  tell. 
We'll  all  be  the  better  for  knowin'.  We'd  be  stronger  for 
havin'  more'n  our  faith  in  him.  He's  silent  Indian,  but 
make  him  tell." 

Mercedes  called  to  Yaqui.  At  her  bidding  there  was 
always  a  suggestion  of  hurry,  which  otherwise  was  never 
manifest  in  his  actions.  She  put  a  hand  on  his  bared 
muscular  arm  and  began  to  speak  in  Spanish.  Her  voice 
was  low,  swift,  full  of  deep  emotion,  sweet  as  the  sound 
of  a  bell.  It  thrilled  Gale,  though  he  understood  scarcely 
a  word  she  said.  He  did  not  need  translation  to  know  that 
here  spoke  the  longing  of  a  woman  for  life,  love,  home, 
the  heritage  of  a  woman's  heart. 

Gale  doubted  his  own  divining  impression.  It  was  that 
the  Yaqui  understood  this  woman's  longing.  In  Gale's 
sight  the  Indian's  stoicism,  his  inscrutability,  the  lavalike 
hardness  of  his  face,  although  they  did  not  change,  seemed 
to  give  forth  light,  gentleness,  loyalty.  For  an  instant 
Gale  seemed  to  have  a  vision;  but  it  did  not  last,  and  he 
failed  to  hold  some  beautiful  illusive  thing. 

266 


MOUNTAIN   SHEEP 

rolled  out  the  Indian's  reply,  full  of  power  and 
depth. 

Mercedes  drew  a  long  breath,  and  her  hand  sought 
Thome's. 

"He  says  yes,"  she  whispered.  "He  answers  he'll 
save  us ;  he'll  take  us  all  back — he  knows !" 

The  Indian  turned  away  to  his  tasks,  and  the  silence 
that  held  the  little  group  was  finally  broken  by  Ladd. 

"Shore  I  said  so.  Now  all  we've  got  to  do  is  use  sense, 
Friends,  I'm  the  commissary  department  of  this  out 
fit,  an*  what  I  say  goes.  You  all  won't  eat  except  when 
I  tell  you.  Mebbe  it'll  not  be  so  hard  to  keep  our  health. 
Starved  beggars  don't  get  sick.  But  there's  the  heat 
comin',  an'  we  can  all  go  loco,  you  know.  To  pass  the 
time!  Lord,  that's  our  problem.  Now  if  you  all  only 
had  a  hankerin'  for  checkers.  Shore  I'll  make  a  board  an* 
make  you  play.  Thorne,  you're  the  luckiest.  You've 
got  your  girl,  an'  this  can  be  a  honeymoon.  Now  with  a 
few  tools  an*  little  material  see  what  a  grand  house  you 
can  build  for  your  wife.  Dick,  you're  lucky,  too.  You 
like  to  hunt,  an*  up  there  you'll  find  the  finest  bighorn 
huntin'  in  the  West.  Take  Yaqui  and  the  .405.  We 
need  the  meat,  but  while  you're  gettin'  it  have  your  sport. 
The  same  chance  will  never  come  again.  I  wish  we  all 
was  able  to  go.  But  crippled  men  can't  climb  the  lava* 
Shore  you'll  see  some  country  from  the  peaks.  There's 
no  wilder  place  on  earth,  except  the  poles.  An'  when 
you're  older,  you  an'  Nell,  with  a  couple  of  fine  boys, 
think  what  it'll  be  to  tell  them  about  bein'  lost  in  the  lava, 
an*  about  huntin'  sheep  with  a  Yaqui.  Shore  I've  hit  it. 
You  can  take  yours  out  in  huntin'  and  thinkin'.  Now  if  I 
had  a  girl  like  Nell  I'd  never  go  crazy.  That's  your  game, 
Dick.  Hunt,  an'  think  of  Nell,  an'  how  you'll  tell  those 
fine  boys  about  it  all,  an*  about  the  old  cowman  you 
knowed,  Laddy,  who'll  by  then  be  long  past  the  divide. 
Rustle  now,  son.  Get  some  enthusiasm.  For  shore 
you'll  need  it  for  yourself  an'  us." 

267 


DESERT   GOLD 

Gale  climbed  the  lava  slope,  away  round  to  the  right  of 
the  arroyo,  along  an  old  trail  that  Yaqui  said  the  Papagos 
had  made  before  his  own  people  hunted  there.  Part  way 
it  led  through  spiked,  crested,  upheaved  lava  that  would 
have  been  almost  impassable  even  without  its  silver  coat 
ing  of  choya  cactus.  There  were  benches  and  ledges  and 
ridges  bare  and  glistening  in  the  sun.  From  the  crests  of 
these  Yaqui's  searching  falcon  gaze  roved  near  and  far 
for  signs  of  sheep,  and  Gale  used  his  glass  on  the  reaches 
of  lava  that  slanted  steeply  upward  to  the  corrugated 
peaks,  and  down  over  endless  heave  and  roll  and  red- 
waved  slopes.  The  heat  smoked  up  from  the  lava,  and 
this,  with  the  red  color  and  shiny  choyas,  gave  the  im 
pression  of  a  world  of  smoldering  fire. 

Farther  along  the  slope  Yaqui  halted  and  crawled  be 
hind  projections  to  a  point  commanding  a  view  over  an 
extraordinary  section  of  country.  The  peaks  were  off  to 
the  left.  In  the  foreground  were  gullies,  ridges,  canons, 
arroyos,  all  glistening  with  choyas  and  some  other  and 
more  numerous  white  bushes,  and  here  and  there  towered 
a  green  cactus.  This  region  was  only  a  splintered  and 
more  devastated  part  of  the  volcanic  slope,  but  it  was 
miles  in  extent.  Yaqui  peeped  over  the  top  of  a  blunt 
block  of  lava  and  searched  the  sharp-billowed  wilderness* 
Suddenly  he  grasped  Gale  and  pointed  across  a  deep  wide 
gully. 

With  the  aid  of  his  glass  Gale  saw  five  sheep.  They 
were  much  larger  than  he  had  expected,  dull  brown  in 
color,  and  two  of  them  were  rams  with  great  curved 
horns.  They  were  looking  in  his  direction.  Remem 
bering  what  he  had  heard  about  the  wonderful  eyesight 
of  these  mountain  animals,  Gale  could  only  conclude  that 
they  had  seen  the  hunters. 

Then  Yaqui's  movements  attracted  and  interested 
him.  The  Indian  had  brought  with  him  a  red  scarf 
and  a  mesquite  branch.  He  tied  the  scarf  on  the  stick, 
and  propped  this  up  in  a  crack  of  the  lava.  The  scarf 

268 


MOUNTAIN    SHEEP 

waved  in  the  wind.     That  done,  the  Indian  bade  Gale 
watch. 

Once  again  he  leveled  the  glass  at  the  sheep.  All 
five  now  were  motionless,  standing  like  statues,  heads 
pointed  across  the  gully.  They  were  more  than  a  mile 
distant.  When  Gale  looked  without  his  glass  they 
merged  into  the  roughness  of  the  lava.  He  was  intensely 
interested.  Did  the  sheep  see  the  red  scarf  ?  It  seemed 
incredible,  but  nothing  else  could  account  for  that  statu 
esque  alertness.  The  sheep  held  this  rigid  position  for 
perhaps  fifteen  minutes.  Then  the  leading  ram  started 
to  approach.  The  others  followed.  He  took  a  few  steps, 
then  halted.  Always  he  held  his  head  up,  nose  pointed. 

"By  George,  they're  coming!"  exclaimed  Gale.  "They 
see  that  flag.  They're  hunting  us.  They're  curious.  If 
this  doesn't  beat  me !" 

Evidently  the  Indian  understood,  for  he  grunted. 

Gale  found  difficulty  in  curbing  his  impatience.  The 
approach  of  the  sheep  was  slow.  The  advances  of  the 
leader  and  the  intervals  of  watching  had  a  singular  reg 
ularity.  He  worked  like  a  machine.  Gale  followed  him 
down  the  opposite  wall,  around  holes,  across  gullies,  over 
ridges.  Then  Gale  shifted  the  glass  back  to  find  the 
others.  They  were  coming  also,  with  exactly  the  same 
pace  and  pause  of  their  leader.  What  steppers  they  were ! 
How  sure-footed!  What  leaps  they  made!  It  was 
thrilling  to  watch  them.  Gale  forgot  he  had  a  rifle.  The 
Yaqui  pressed  a  heavy  hand  down  upon  his  shoulder. 
He  was  to  keep  well  hidden  and  to  be  quiet.  Gale  sud 
denly  conceived  the  idea  that  the  sheep  might  come  clear 
across  to  investigate  the  puzzling  red  thing  fluttering  in 
the  breeze.  Strange,  indeed,  would  that  be  for  the  wildest 
creatures  in  the  world. 

The  big  ram  led  on  with  the  same  regular  persistence, 
and  in  half  an  hour's  time  he  was  in  the  bottom  of  the 
great  gulf,  and  soon  he  was  facing  up  the  slope.  Gale 
knew  then  that  the  alluring  scarf  had  fascinated  him, 

269 


DESERT   GOLD 

It  was  no  longer  necessary  now  for  Gale  to  use  his  glass. 
There  was  a  short  period  when  an  intervening  crest  of 
lava  hid  the  sheep  from  yiew.  After  that  the  two  rams 
and  their  smaller  followers  were  plainly  in  sight  for  per 
haps  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Then  they  disappeared  be 
hind  another  ridge.  Gale  kept  watching,  sure  they  would 
come  out  farther  on.  A  tense  period  of  waiting  passed, 
then  a  sudden  electrifying  pressure  of  Yaqui's  hand  made 
Gale  tremble  with  excitement. 

Very  cautiously  he  shifted  his  position.  There,  not 
fifty  feet  distant  upon  a  high  mound  of  lava,  stood  the 
leader  of  the  sheep.  His  size  astounded  Gale.  He  seemed 
all  horns.  But  only  for  a  moment  did  the  impression 
of  horns  overbalancing  body  remain  with  Gale.  The 
sheep  was  graceful,  sinewy,  slender,  powerfully  built, 
and  in  poise  magnificent.  As  Gale  watched,  spellbound, 
the  second  ram  leaped  lightly  upon  the  mound,  and  pres 
ently  the  three  others  did  likewise. 

Then,  indeed,  Gale  feasted  his  eyes  with  a  spectacle  foi- 
a  hunter.  It  came  to  him  suddenly  that  there  had  been 
something  he  expected  to  see  in  this  Rocky  Mountain 
bighorn,  and  it  was  lacking.  They  were  beautiful,  as 
wonderful  as  even  Ladd's  encomiums  had  led  him  to 
suppose.  He  thought  perhaps  it  was  the  contrast  these 
soft,  sleek,  short-furred,  graceful  animals  afforded  to 
what  he  imagined  the  barren,  terrible  lava  mountains 
might  develop. 

The  splendid  leader  stepped  closer,  his  round,  protrud-^ 
ing  amber  eyes,  which  Gale  could  now  plainly  see,  intent 
upon  that  fatal  red  flag.  Like  automatons  the  other  four 
crowded  into  his  tracks.  A  few  little  slow  steps,  then  the 
leader  halted. 

At  this  instant  Gale's  absorbed  attention  was  directed 
by  Yaqui  to  the  rifle,  and  so  to  the  purpose  of  the  climb. 
A  little  cold  shock  affronted  Gale's  vivid  pleasure.  With  it 
dawned  a  realization  of  what  he  had  imagined  was  lacking 
m  these  animals.  They  did  not  look  wild !  The  so-called 

270 


MOUNTAIN    SHEEP 

wildest  of  wild  creatures  appeared:  tamer  than  sheep  he 
had  followed  on  a  farm.  It  would  be  little  less  than  mur 
der  to  kill  them.  Gale  regretted  the  need  of  slaughter. 
Nevertheless,  he  could  not  resist  the  desire  to  show  him 
self  and  see  how  tame  they  really  were. 

He  reached  for  the  .405,  and  as  he  threw  a  shell  into 
the  chamber  the  slight  metallic  click  made  the  sheep 
jump.  Then  Gale  rose  quickly  to  his  feet. 

The  noble  ram  and  his  band  simply  stared  at  Gale. 
They  had  never  seen  a  man.  They  showed  not  the  slight 
est  indication  of  instinctive  fear.  Curiosity,  surprise, 
even  friendliness,  seemed  to  mark  their  attitude  of  atten 
tion.  Gale  imagined  that  they  were  going  to  step  still 
closer.  He  did  not  choose  to  wait  to  see  if  this  were  true. 
Certainly  it  already  took  a  grim  resolution  to  raise  the 
heavy  .405. 

His  shot  killed  the  big  leader.  The  others  bounded 
away  with  remarkable  nimbleness.  Gale  used  up  the 
remaining  four  shells  to  drop  the  second  ram,  and  by  the 
time  he  had  reloaded  the  others  were  out  of  range. 

The  Yaqui's  method  of  hunting  was  sure  and  deadly 
and  saving  in  energy,  but  Gale  never  would  try  it  again. 
He  chose  to  stalk  the  game.  This  entailed  a  great  ex 
penditure  of  strength,  the  eyes  and  the  lungs  of  a  moun 
taineer,  and,  as  Gale  put  it  to  Ladd,  the  need  of  seven- 
league  boots.  After  being  hunted  a  few  times  and  shot 
at,  the  sheep  became  exceedingly  difficult  to  approach. 
Gale  learned  to  know  that  their  fame  as  the  keenest-eyed 
of  all  animals  was  well  founded.  If  he  worked  directly 
toward  a  flock,  crawling  over  the  sharp  lava,  always  a 
sentinel  ram  espied  him  before  he  got  within  range.  The 
only  method  of  attack  that  he  found  successful  was  to 
locate  sheep  with  his  glass,  work  round  to  windward  of 
them,  and  then,  getting  behind  a  ridge  or  buttress,  crawl 
like  a  lizard  to  a  vantage  point.  He  failed  often.  The 
stalk  called  forth  all  that  was  in  him  of  endurance, 

271 


DESERT   GOLD 

cunning,  speed.  As  the  days  grew  hotter  he  hunted  in  the 
early  morning  hours  and  a  while  before  the  sun  went 
down.  More  than  one  night  he  lay  out  on  the  lava,  with 
the  great  stars  close  overhead  and  the  immense  void  all 
beneath  him.  This  pursuit  he  learned  to  love.  Upon 
those  scarred  and  blasted  slopes  the  wild  spirit  that  was 
in  him  had  free  rein.  And  like  a  shadow  the  faithful 
Yaqui  tried  ever  to  keep  at  his  heels. 

One  morning  the  rising  sun  greeted  him  as  he  sur 
mounted  the  higher  cone  of  the  volcano.  He  saw  the 
vastness  of  the  east  aglow  with  a  glazed  rosy  whiteness, 
like  the  changing  hue  of  an  ember.  At  this  height  there 
was  a  sweeping  wind,  still  cool.  The  western  slopes  of 
lava  lay  dark,  and  all  that  world  of  sand  and  gulf  and 
mountain  barrier  beyond  was  shrouded  in  the  mystic  cloud 
of  distance.  Gale  had  assimilated  much  of  the  loneliness 
and  the  sense  of  ownership  and  the  love  of  lofty  heights 
that  might  well  belong  to  the  great  condor  of  the  peak. 
J -ike  this  wide-winged  bird,  he  had  an  unparalleled  range 
of  vision.  The  very  corners  whence  came  the  winds 
seemed  pierced  by  Gale's  eyes. 

Yaqui  spied  a  flock  of  sheep  far  under  the  curved 
broken  rim  of  the  main  crater.  Then  began  the  stalk. 
Gale  had  taught  Yaqui  something — that  speed  might  win 
as  well  as  patient  cunning.  Keeping  out  of  sight,  Gale 
ran  over  the  spike-crusted  lava,  leaving  the  Indian  far 
behind.  His  feet  were  magnets,  attracting  supporting 
holds,  and  he  passed  over  them  too  fast  to  fall.  The 
wind,  the  keen  air  of  the  heights,  the  red  lava,  the  bound 
less  surrounding  blue,  all  seemed  to  have  something  to  do 
with  his  wildness.  Then,  hiding,  slipping,  creeping, 
crawling,  he  closed  in  upon  his  quarry  until  the  long  rifle 
grew  like  stone  in  his  grip,  and  the  whipping  "spang" 
ripped  the  silence,  and  the  strange  echo  boomed  deep  in 
the  crater,  and  rolled  around,  as  if  in  hollow  mockery  at 
the  hopelessness  of  escape. 

Gale's  exultant  yell  was  given  as  much  to  free  himself 


MOUNTAIN    SHEEP 

of  some  bursting  joy  of  action  as  it  was  to  call  the  slower 
Yaqui.  Then  he  liked  the  strange  echoes.  It  was  a 
maddening  whirl  of  sound  that  bored  deeper  and  deeper 
along  the  whorled  and  caverned  walls  of  the  crater.  It 
was  as  if  these  aged  walls  resented  the  violating  of  their 
Silent  sanctity.  Gale  felt  himself  a  man,  a  thing  alive, 
something  superior  to  all  this  savage,  dead,  upflung  world 
of  iron,  a  master  even  of  all  this  grandeur  and  sublimity 
because  he  had  a  soul. 

He  waited  beside  his  quarry,  and  breathed  deep,  and 
swept  the  long  slopes  with  searching  eyes  of  habit. 

When  Yaqui  came  up  they  set  about  the  hardest  task 
of  all,  to  pack  the  best  of  that  heavy  sheep  down  miles 
of  steep,  ragged,  choya-covered  lava.  But  even  in  this 
Gale  rejoiced.  The  heat  was  nothing,  the  millions  of  little 
pits  which  could  hold  and  twist  a  foot  were  nothing ;  the 
blade-edged  crusts  and  the  deep  fissures  and  the  choked 
canons  and  the  tangled,  dwarfed  mesquites,  all  these  were 
as  nothing  but  obstacles  to  be  cheerfully  overcome.  Only 
the  choya  hindered  Dick  Gale. 

When  his  heavy  burden  pulled  him  out  of  sure-footed- 
ness,  and  he  plunged  into  a  choya,  or  when  the  strange, 
deceitful,  uncanny,  almost  invisible  frosty  thorns  caught 
and  pierced  him,  then  there  was  call  for  all  of  fortitude 
and  endurance.  For  this  cactus  had  a  malignant  power 
of  torture.  Its  pain  was  a  stinging,  blinding,  burning, 
sickening  poison  in  the  blood.  If  thorns  pierced  his 
legs  he  felt  the  pain  all  over  his  body;  if  his  hands  rose 
from  a  fall  full  of  the  barbed  joints,  he  was  helpless  and 
quivering  till  Yaqui  tore  them  out. 

But  this  one  peril,  dreaded  more  than  dizzy  height  of 
precipice  or  sunblindness  on  the  glistening  peak,  did  not 
daunt  Gale.  His  teacher  was  the  Yaqui,  and  always 
before  him  was  an  example  that  made  him  despair  of  a 
white  man's  equality.  Color,  race,  blood,  breeding — 
what  were  these  in  the  wilderness?  Verily,  Dick  Gale 
had  come  to  learn  the  use  of  his  hands 

271 


DESERT   GOLD 

So  in  a  descent  of  hours  he  toiled  down  the  lava  slope, 
to  stalk  into  the  arroyo  like  a  burdened  giant,  wringing 
wet,  panting,  clear-eyed  and  dark- faced,  his  ragged 
clothes  and  boots  white  with  choya  thorns. 

The  gaunt  Ladd  rose  from  his  shaded  seat,  and  re- 
Amoved  his  pipe  from  smiling  lips,  and  turned  to  nod  at 
Jim,  and  then  looked  back  again. 

The  torrid  summer  heat  came  imperceptibly,  or  it  could 
never  have  been  borne  by  white  men.  It  changed  the 
lives  of  the  fugitives,  making  them  partly  nocturnal  in 
habit.  The  nights  had  the  balmy  coolness  of  spring, 
and  would  have  been  delightful  for  sleep,  but  that  would 
have  made  the  blazing  days  unendurable. 

The  sun  rose  in  a  vast  white  flame.  With  it  came  the 
blasting,  withering  wind  from  the  gulf.  A  red  haze,  like 
that  of  earlier  sunsets,  seemed  to  come  sweeping  on  the 
wind,  and  it  roared  up  the  arroyo,  and  went  bellowing 
into  the  crater,  and  rushed  on  in  fury  to  lash  the  peaks. 

During  these  hot,  windy  hours  the  desert-bound  party 
slept  in  deep  recesses  in  the  lava ;  and  if  necessity  brought 
them  forth  they  could  not  remain  out  long.  The  sand 
burned  through  boots,  and  a  touch  of  bare  hand  on  lava 
raised  a  blister. 

A  short  while  before  sundown  the  Yaqui  went  forth  to 
build  a  campfire,  and  soon  the  others  came  out,  heat- 
dazed,  half  blinded,  with  parching  throats  to  allay  and 
hunger  that  was  never  satisfied.  A  little  action  and  a 
cooling  of  the  air  revived  them,  and  when  night  set  in 
they  were  comfortable  round  the  campfire. 

As  Ladd  had  said,  one  of  their  greatest  problems  was 
the  passing  of  time.  The  nights  were  interminably  long, 
but  they  had  to  be  passed  in  work  or  play  or  dream — any 
thing  except  sleep.  That  was  Ladd's  most  inflexible 
command.  He  gave  no  reason.  But  not  improbably  the 
ranger  thought  that  the  terrific  heat  of  the  day  spent  in 
slumber  lessened  a  wear  and  strain,  if  not  a  real  danger 
of  madness. 

274 


MOUNTAIN    SHEEP 

Accordingly,  at  first  the  occupations  of  this  little  group 
were  many  and  various.  They  worked  if  they  had  some 
thing  to  do,  or  could  invent  a  pretext.  They  told  and  re 
told  stories  until  all  were  wearisome.  They  sang  songs. 
Mercedes  taught  Spanish.  They  played  every  game  they 
knew.  They  invented  others  that  were  so  trivial  children 
would  scarcely  have  been  interested,  and  these  they 
played  seriously.  In  a  word,  with  intelligence  and  pas 
sion,  with  all  that  was  civilized  and  human,  they  fought 
the  ever-infringing  loneliness,  the  savage  solitude  of  their 
environment. 

But  they  had  only  finite  minds.  It  was  not  in  reason 
to  expect  a  complete  victory  against  this  mighty  Nature, 
this  abounding  horizon  of  death  and  desolation  and  decay. 
Gradually  they  fell  back  upon  fewer  and  fewer  occupa 
tions,  until  the  time  came  when  the  silence  was  hard  to 
break. 

Gale  believed  himself  the  keenest  of  the  party,  the  one 
who  thought  most,  and  he  watched  the  effect  of  the  desert 
upon  his  companions.  He  imagined  that  he  saw  Ladd 
grow  old  sitting  around  the  campfire.  Certain  it  was  that 
the  ranger's  gray  hair  had  turned  white.  What  had  been 
at  times  hard  and  cold  and  grim  about  him  had  strangely 
vanished  in  sweet  temper  and  a  vacant-mindedness  that 
held  him  longer  as  the  days  passed.  For  hours,  it  seemed, 
Ladd  would  bend  over  his  checkerboard  and  never  make 
a  move.  It  mattered  not  now  whether  or  not  he  had  a 
partner.  He  was  always  glad  of  being  spoken  to,  as  if 
he  were  called  back  from  some  vague  region  of  mind. 
Jim  Lash,  the  calmest,  coolest,  most  nonchalant,  best- 
humored  Westerner  Gale  had  ever  met,  had  by  slow  de 
grees  lost  that  cheerful  character  which  would  have  been 
of  such  infinite  good  to  his  companions,  and  always  he 
sat  brooding,  silently  brooding.  Jim  had  no  ties,  few 
memories,  and  the  desert  was  claiming  him. 

Thorne  and  Mercedes,  however,  were  living,  wonderfu* 
proof  that  spirit,  mind,  and  heart  were  free — free  to  soa? 

275 


DESERT   GOLD 

in  scorn  of  the  colossal  barrenness  and  silence  and  space 
of  that  terrible  hedging  prison  of  lava.  They  were  young; 
they  loved ;  they  were  together ;  and  the  oasis  was  almost 
a  paradise.  Gale  believed  he  helped  himself  by  watching 
them.  Imagination  had  never  pictured  real  happiness  to 
him.  Thorne  and  Mercedes  had  forgotten  the  outside 
world.  If  they  had  been  existing  on  the  burned-out  deso 
late  moon  they  could  hardly  have  been  in  a  harsher,  grim 
mer,  lonelier  spot  than  this  red-walled  arroyo.  But  it  might 
have  been  a  statelier  Eden  than  that  of  the  primitive  day. 

Mercedes  grew  thinner,  until  she  was  a  slender  shadow 
of  her  former  self.  She  became  hard,  brown  as  the 
rangers,  lithe  and  quick  as  a  panther.  She  seemed  to 
live  on  water  and  the  air — perhaps,  indeed,  on  love.  For 
of  the  scant  fare,  the  best  of  which  was  continually  urged 
upon  her,  she  partook  but  little.  She  reminded  Gale  of  a 
wild  brown  creature,  free  as  the  wind  on  the  lava  slopes. 
Yet,  despite  the  great  change,  her  beauty  remained  un- 
diminished.  Her  eyes,  seeming  so  much  larger  now  in  her 
small  face,  were  great  black,  starry  gulfs.  She  was  the 
life  of  that  camp.  Her  smiles,  her  rapid  speech,  her  low 
laughter,  her  quick  movements,  her  playful  moods  with 
the  rangers,  the  dark  and  passionate  glance,  which  rested 
so  often  on  her  lover,  the  whispers  in  the  dusk  as  hand  In 
hand  they  paced  the  campfire  beat — these  helped  Gale  to 
retain  his  loosening  hold  on  reality,  to  resist  the  lure  of  a 
strange  beckoning  life  where  a  man  stood  free  in  the 
golden  open,  where  emotion  was  not,  nor  troub'e,  nor 
sickness,  nor  anything  but  the  savage's  rest  and  sleep  and 
action  and  dream. 

Although  the  Yaqui  was  as  his  shadow,  Gale  reached  a 
point  when  he  seemed  to  wander  alone  at  twilight,  in  the 
night,  at  dawn.  Far  down  the  arroyo,  in  the  deepening 
red  twilight,  when  the  heat  rolled  away  on  slow-dying 
wind,  Blanco  Sol  raised  his  splendid  head  and  whistled 
for  his  master.  Gale  reproached  himself  for  neglect  cf 
the  noble  horse.  Blanco  Sol  was  always  the  same.  He 

276 


MOUNTAIN    SHEEP 

loved  four  things — his  master,  a  long  drink  of  cool  water, 
to  graze  at  will,  and  to  run.  Time  and  place,  Gale  thought, 
meant  little  to  Sol  if  he  could  have  those  four  things. 
Gale  put  his  arm  over  the  great  arched  neck  and  laid  his 
cheek  against  the  long  white  mane,  and  then  even  as  he 
stood  there  forgot  the  horse.  What  was  that  dull,  red- 
tinged,  horizon- wide  mantle  creeping  up  the  slope? 
Through  it  the  copper  sun  glowed,  paled,  died.  Was  it 
only  twilight?  Was  it  gloom?  If  he  thought  about  it 
he  had  a  feeling  that  it  was  the  herald  of  night,  and  the 
night  must  be  a  vigil,  and  that  made  him  tremble. 

At  night  he  had  formed  a  habit  of  climbing  up  the  lava 
slope  as  far  as  the  smooth  trail  extended,  and  there  on  a 
promontory  he  paced  to  and  fro,  and  watched  the  stars, 
and  sat  stone-still  for  hours  looking  down  at  the  vast 
void  with  its  moving,  changing  shadows.  From  that 
promontory  he  gazed  up  at  a  velvet-blue  sky,  deep  and 
dark,  bright  with  millions  of  cold,  distant,  blinking  stars, 
and  he  grasped  a  little  of  the  meaning  of  infinitude.  He 
gazed  down  into  the  shadows,  which,  black  as  they  were 
and  impenetrable,  yet  gave  a  conception  of  immeasurable 
space. 

Then  the  silence!  He  was  dumb,  he  was  awed,  he 
bowed  his  head,  he  trembled,  he  marveled  at  the  desert 
silence.  It  was  the  one  thing  always  present.  Even  when 
the  wind  roared  there  seemed  to  be  silence.  But  at  night, 
in  this  lava  world  of  ashes  and  canker,  he  waited  for  this 
terrible  strangeness  of  nature  to  come  to  him  with  the 
secret.  He  seemed  at  once  a  little  child  and  a  strong 
man,  and  something  very  old.  What  tortured  him  was 
the  incomprehensibility  that  the  vaster  the  space  the 
greater  the  silence !  At  one  moment  Gale  f  e^t  chere  was 
only  death  here,  and  that  was  the  secret;  at  another  he 
heard  the  slow  beat  of  a  mighty  heart. 

He  came  at  length  to  realize  that  the  desert  was  a 
teacher.  He  did  not  realize  all  that  he  had  learned,  but  he 
was  a  different  man.  And  when  he  decided  upon  that,  he 

277 


DESERT    GOLD 

was  not  thinking  of  the  slow,  sure  call  to  the  primal  in 
stincts  of  man ;  he  was  thinking  that  the  desert,  as  much 
as  he  had  experienced  and  no  more,  would  absolutely 
overturn  the  whole  scale  of  a  man's  values,  break  old 
habits,  form  new  ones,  remake  him.  More  of  desert  ex 
perience,  Gale  believed,  would  be  too  much  for  intellect. 
The  desert  did  not  breed  civilized  man,  and  that  made 
Gale  ponder  over  a  strange  thought:  after  all,  was  the 
civilized  man  inferior  to  the  savage  ? 

Yaqui  was  the  answer  to  that.  When  Gale  acknowl 
edged  this  he  always  remembered  his  present  strange 
manner  of  thought.  The  past,  the  old  order  of  mind, 
seemed  as  remote  as  this  desert  world  was  from  the  haunts 
of  civilized  men.  A  man  must  know  a  savage  as  Gale 
knew  Yaqui  before  he  could  speak  authoritatively,  and 
then  something  stilled  his  tongue.  In  the  first  stage  of 
Gale's  observation  of  Yaqui  he  had  marked  tenaciousness 
of  life,  stoicism,  endurance,  strength.  These  were  the 
attributes  of  the  desert.  But  what  of  that  second  stage 
wherein  the  Indian  had  loomed  up  a  colossal  figure  of 
strange  honor,  loyalty,  love?  Gale  doubted  his  con 
victions  and  scorned  himself  for  doubting. 

There  in  the  gloom  sat  the  silent,  impassive,  inscrutable 
Yaqui.  His  dark  face,  his  dark  eyes  were  plain  in  the 
light  of  the  stars.  Always  he  was  near  Gale,  unobtrusive, 
shadowy,  but  there.  Why?  Gale  absolutely  could  not 
doubt  that  the  Indian  had  heart  as  well  as  mind.  Yaqui 
had  from  the  very  first  stood  between  Gale  and  accident, 
toil,  peril.  It  was  his  own  choosing.  Gale  could  not 
change  him  or  thwart  him.  He  understood  the  Indian's 
idea  of  obligation  and  sacred  duty.  But  there  was  more, 
and  that  baffled  Gale.  In  the  night  hours,  alone  on  the 
slope,  Gale  felt  in  Yaqui,  as  he  felt  the  mighty  throb  of 
that  desert  pulse,  a  something  that  drew  him  irresistibly 
to  the  Indian.  Sometimes  he  looked  around  to  find  the 
Indian,  to  dispel  these  strange,  pressing  thoughts  of  un 
reality,  and  it  was  never  in  vain. 

278 


MOUNTAIN  SHEEP 

Thus  the  nights  passed,  endlessly  long,  with  Gale 
fighting  for  his  old  order  of  thought,  fighting  the  fascina 
tion  of  that  infinite  sky,  and  the  gloomy  insulating  whirl 
of  the  wide  shadows,  fighting  for  belief,  hope,  prayer, 
fighting  against  that  terrible  ever-recurring  idea  of  being 
lost,  lost,  lost  in  the  desert,  fighting  harder  than  any 
other  thing  the  insidious,  penetrating,  tranquil,  unfeeling 
self  that  was  coming  between  him  and  his  memory. 

He  was  losing  the  battle,  losing  his  hold  on  tangible 
things,  losing  his  power  to  stand  up  under  this  ponderous, 
merciless  weight  of  desert  space  and  silence. 

He  acknowledged  it  in  a  kind  of  despair,  and  the 
shadows  of  the  night  seemed  whirling  fiends.  Lost! 
Lost!  Lost!  What  are  you  waiting  for?  Rain?.  .  . 
Lost!  Lost!  Lost  in  the  desert!  So  the  shadows  seemed 
to  scream  in  voiceless  mockery. 

At  the  moment  he  was  alone  on  the  promontory.  The 
night  was  far  spent.  A  ghastly  moon  haunted  the  black 
volcanic  spurs.  The  winds  blew  silently.  Was  he  alone? 
No,  he  did  not  seem  to  be  alone.  The  Yaqui  was  there. 
Suddenly  a  strange,  cold  sensation  crept  over  Gale.  It 
was  new.  He  felt  a  presence.  Turning,  he  expected  to 
see  the  Indian,  but  instead,  a  slight  shadow,  pale,  almost 
white,  stood  there,  not  close  nor  yet  distant.  It  seemed 
to  brighten.  Then  he  saw  a  woman  who  resembled  a 
girl  he  had  seemed  to  know  long  ago.  She  was  white- 
faced,  golden-haired,  and  her  lips  were  sweet,  and  her 
eyes  were  turning  black.  Nell!  He  had  forgotten  her. 
Over  him  flooded  a  torrent  of  memory.  There  was  tragic 
woe  in  this  sweet  face.  Nell  was  holding  out  her  arms — 
she  was  crying  aloud  to  him  across  the  sand  and  the 
cactus  and  the  lava.  She  was  in  trouble,  and  he  had  been 
forgetting. 

That  night  he  climbed  the  lava  to  the  topmost  cone, 
and  never  slipped  on  a  ragged  crust  nor  touched  a  choya 
thorn.  A  voice  had  called  to  him.  He  saw  Nell's  eyes  in 
the  stars,  in  the  velvet  blue  of  sky,  in  the  blackness  of  the 

279 


DESERT   GOLD 

engulfing  shadows.  She  was  with  him,  a  slender  shape,  a 
spirit,  keeping  step  with  him,  and  memory  was  strong, 
sweet,  beating,  beautiful.  Far  down  in  the  west,  faintly 
golden  with  light  of  the  sinking  moon,  he  saw  a  cloud  thai 
resembled  her  face.  A  cloud  on  the  desert  horizon !  He 
gazed  and  gazed.  Was  that  a  spirit  face  like  the  one  by 
his  side  ?  No — he  did  not  dream. 

In  the  hot,  sultry  morning  Yaqui  appeared  at  camp, 
after  long  hours  of  absence,  and  he  pointed  with  a  long, 
dark  arm  toward  the  west.  A  bank  of  clouds  was  rising 
above  the  mountain  barrier. 

"Rain!"  he  cried;  and  his  sonorous  voice  rolled  down 
the  arroyo. 

Those  who  heard  him  were  as  shipwrecked  mariners  at 
sight  of  a  distant  sail. 

Dick  Gale,  silent,  grateful  to  the  depths  of  his  soul, 
stood  with  arm  over  Blanco  Sol  and  watched  the  trans 
forming  west,  where  clouds  of  wondrous  size  and  hue 
piled  over  one  another,  rushing,  darkening,  spreading, 
sweeping  upward  toward  that  white  and  glowing  sun. 

When  they  reached  the  zenith  and  swept  round  to 
blot  out  the  blazing  orb,  the  earth  took  on  a  dark,  lowering 
aspect.  The  red  of  sand  and  lava  changed  to  steely  gray. 
Vast  shadows,  like  ripples  on  water,  sheeted  in  from  the 
gulf  with  a  low,  strange  moan.  Yet  the  silence  was  like 
death.  The  desert  was  awaiting  a  strange  and  hated 
visitation — storm !  If  all  the  endless  torrid  days,  the  end 
less  mystic  nights  had  seemed  unreal  to  Gale,  what,  then, 
seemed  this  stupendous  spectacle? 

"Oh !  I  felt  a  drop  of  rain  on  my  face !"  cried  Mercedes ; 
and,  whispering  the  name  of  a  saint,  she  kissed  her  hus 
band. 

The  white-haired  Ladd,  gaunt,  old,  bent,  looked  up  at 
the  maelstrom  of  clouds,  and  he  said,  softly,  "Shore  we'll 

280 


MOUNTAIN    SHEEP 

get  in  the  bosses,  an'  pack  light,  an'  hit  the  trail,  an*  make 
night  marches!" 

Then  up  out  of  the  gulf  of  the  west  swept  a  bellowing 
wind  and  a  black  pall  and  terrible  flashes  of  lightning  and 
thunder  like  the  end  of  the  world — fury,  blackness,  chaos, 
the  desert  storm 


xvn 

THE  WHISTLE  OF  A  HORSE 

A?  the  ranch-house  at  Forlorn  River  Belding  stood 
alone  in  his  darkened  room.  It  was  quiet  there  and 
quiet  outside;  the  sickening  midsummer  heat,  like  a  hot 
heavy  blanket,  lay  upon  the  house. 

He  took  up  the  gun  belt  from  his  table  and  with  slow 
hands  buckled  it  around  his  waist.  He  seemed  to  feel 
something  familiar  and  comfortable  and  inspiring  in  the 
weight  of  the  big  gun  against  his  hip.  He  faced  the  door 
as  if  to  go  out,  but  hesitated,  and  then  began  a  slow, 
plodding  walk  up  and  down  the  length  of  the  room. 
Presently  he  halted  at  the  table,  and  with  reluctant  hands 
he  unbuckled  the  gun  belt  and  laid  it  down. 

The  action  did  not  have  an  air  of  finality,  and  Belding 
knew  it.  He  had  seen  border  life  in  Texas  in  the  early 
days ;  he  had  been  a  sheriff  when  the  law  in  the  West  de 
pended  on  a  quickness  of  wrist ;  he  had  seen  many  a  man 
lay  down  his  gun  for  good  and  all.  His  own  action  was 
not  final.  Of  late  he  had  done  the  same  thing  many  times, 
and  this  last  time  it  seemed  a  little  harder  to  do,  a  little 
more  indicative  of  vacillation.  There  were  reasons  why 
Belding's  gun  held  for  him  a  gloomy  fascination. 

The  Chases,  thoss*  grasping  and  conscienceless  agents 
of  a  new  force  in  the  development  of  the  West,  were  bent 
upon  Belding's  ruin,  and,  so  far  as  his  fortunes  at  Forlorn 
River  were  concerned,  nad  almost  accomplished  it.  One 
by  one  he  lost  points  for  which  he  contended  with  them. 
He  carried  into  the  Tucson  courts  the  matter  of  the  staked 
claims,  and  mining  claims,  and  water  claims,  and  he  lost 

282 


THE  WHISTLE   OF  A   HORSE 

all.  Following  that  he  lost  his  government  position  as 
inspector  of  immigration ;  and  this  fact,  because  of  what 
he  considered  its  injustice,  had  been  a  hard  blow.  He  had 
been  made  to  suffer  a  humiliation  equally  as  great.  It 
came  about  that  he  actually  had  to  pay  the  Chases  for 
water  to  irrigate  his  alfalfa  fields.  The  never-failing 
spring  upon  his  land  answered  for  the  needs  of  household 
and  horses,  but  no  more. 

These  matters  were  unfortunate  for  Belding,  but  not 
by  any  means  wholly  accountable  for  his  worry  and  un- 
happiness  and  brooding  hate.  He  believed  Dick  Gale 
and  the  rest  of  the  party  taken  into  the  desert  by  the  Yaqui 
had  been  killed  or  lost.  Two  months  before  a  string  of 
Mexican  horses,  riderless,  saddled,  starved  for  grass  and 
wild  for  water,  had  come  in  to  Forlorn  Riven  They  were 
a  part  of  the  horses  belonging  to  Rojas  and  his  band. 
Their  arrival  complicated  the  mystery  and  strengthened 
convictions  of  the  loss  of  both  pursuers  and  pursued. 
Belding  was  wont  to  say  that  he  had  worried  himself 
gray  over  the  fate  of  his  rangers. 

Belding's  unhappiness  could  hardly  be  laid  to  material 
loss.  He  had  been  rich  and  was  now  poor,  but  change  of 
fortune  such  as  that  could  not  have  made  him  unhappy. 
Something  more  somber  and  mysterious  and  sad  than  the 
loss  of  Dick  Gale  and  their  friends  had  come  into  the  lives 
of  his  wife  and  Nell.  He  dated  the  time  of  this  change 
back  to  a  certain  day  when  Mrs.  Belding  recognized  in 
the  elder  Chase  an  old  schoolmate  and  a  rejected  suitor. 
It  took  time  for  slow-thinking  Belding  to  discover  any 
thing  wrong  in  his  household,  especially  as  the  fact  of  the 
Gales  lingering  there  made  Mrs.  Belding  and  Nell,  for  the 
most  part,  hide  their  real  and  deeper  feelings.  Gradually, 
however,  Belding  had  forced  on  him  the  fact  of  some 
secret  cause  for  grief  other  than  Gale's  loss.  He  was 
sure  of  it  when  his  wife  signified  her  desire  to  make  a  visit 
to  her  old  home  back  in  Peoria.  She  did  not  give  many 
reasons,  but  she  did  show  him  a  letter  that  had  found  its 

28* 


DESERT   GOLD 

way  from  old  friends.  This  letter  contained  news  that 
may  or  may  not  have  been  authentic ;  but  it  was  enough, 
Belding  thought,  to  interest  his  wife.  An  old  prospector 
had  returned  to  Peoria,  and  he  had  told  relatives  of  meet 
ing  Robert  Burton  at  the  Sonoyta  Oasis  fifteen  years  be 
fore,  and  that  Burton  had  gone  into  the  desert  never  to 
return.  To  Belding  this  was  no  surprise,  for  he  had  heard 
that  before  his  marriage.  There  appeared  to  have  been 
no  doubts  as  to  the  death  of  his  wife's  first  husband.  The 
singular  thing  was  that  both  Nell's  father  and  grandfather 
had  been  lost  somewhere  in  the  Sonora  Desert. 

Belding  did  not  oppose  his  wife's  desire  to  visit  her  old 
home.  He  thought  it  would  be  a  wholesome  trip  for  her, 
and  did  all  in  his  power  to  persuade  Nell  to  accompany 
her.  But  Nell  would  not  go. 

It  was  after  Mrs.  Belding's  departure  that  Belding 
discovered  in  Nell  a  condition  of  mind  that  amazed  and 
distressed  him.  She  had  suddenly  become  strangely 
wretched,  so  that  she  could  not  conceal  it  from  even  the 
Gales,  who,  of  all  people,  Belding  imagined,  were  the  ones 
to  make  Nell  proud.  She  would  tell  him  nothing.  But 
after  a  while,  when  he  had  thought  it  out,  he  dated  this 
further  and  more  deplorable  change  in  Nell  back  to  a  day 
on  which  he  had  met  Nell  with  Radford  Chase.  This 
indefatigable  wooer  had  not  in  the  least  abandoned  his 
suit  Something  about  the  fellow  made  Belding  grind 
his  teeth.  But  Nell  grew  not  only  solicitously,  but  now 
strangely,  entreatingly  earnest  in  her  importunities  to 
Belding  not  to  insult  or  lay  a  hand  on  Chase.  This  had 
bound  Belding  so  far;  it  had  made  him  think  and  watch. 
He  had  never  been  a  man  to  interfere  with  his  women 
folk.  They  could  do  as  they  liked,  and  usually  that 
pleased  him.  But  a  slow  surprise  gathered  and  grew  upon 
him  when  he  saw  that  Nell,  apparently,  was  accepting 
young  Chase's  attentions.  At  least,  she  no  longer  hid 
from  him.  Beiding  could  not  account  for  this,  because 
he  was  sure  Nell  cordially  despised  the  fellow.  And 

284 


THE  WHISTLE   OF   A   HORSE 

toward  the  end  he  divined,  if  he  did  not  actually  know, 
that  these  Chases  possessed  some  strange  power  over  Nell, 
and  were  using  it,  That  stirred  a  hate  in  Belding — a  hate 
he  had  felt  at  the  first  and  had  manfully  striven  against, 
which  now  gave  him  over  to  dark  brooding  thoughts. 

Midsummer  passed,  and  the  storms  came  late.  But 
when  they  arrived  they  made  up  for  tardiness.  Belding 
did  not  remember  so  terrible  a  storm  of  wind  and  rain 
as  that  which  broke  the  summer's  drought. 

In  a  few  days,  it  seemed,  Altar  Valley  was  a  bright 
and  green  expanse,  where  dust  clouds  did  not  rise.  For 
lorn  River  ran,  a  slow,  heavy,  turgid  torrent  Belding 
never  saw  the  river  in  flood  that  it  did  not  give  him  joy ; 
yet  now,  desert  man  as  he  was,  he  suffered  a  regret  when 
he  thought  of  the  great  Chase  reservoir  full  and  over 
flowing.  The  dull  thunder  ol  the  spillway  was  not  pleas 
ant.  It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  the  sound  of 
falling  water  jarred  upon  him, 

Belding  noticed  workmen  once  more  engaged  in  the 
fields  bounding  his  land.  The  Chases  had  extended  £ 
main  irrigation  ditch  down  to  Belding's  farm,  skipped  the 
width  of  his  ground,  then  had  gone  on  down  through 
Altar  Valley,  They  had  exerted  every  influence  to  obtaitt 
right  to  connect  these  ditches  by  digging  through  his  land; 
but  Belding  had  remained  obdurate  He  refused  to  have 
any  dealings  with  them,  It  was  therefore  with  some 
curiosity  and  suspicion  that  he  saw  a  gang  of  Mexicans 
once  more  at  work  upon  these  ditches. 

At  daylight  next  morning  a  tremendous  blast  almost 
threw  Belding  out  of  his  bed  It  cracked  the  adobe  walls 
of  his  house  and  broke  windows  and  sent  pans  and  crock 
ery  to  the  floor  with  a  crash.  Belding's  idea  was  that  the 
store  of  dynamite  kept  by  the  Chases  for  blasting  had 
blown  up.  Hurriedly  getting  into  his  clothes^  he  went 
to  Nell's  room  to  reassure  her ;  and,  telling  her  to  have  & 
thought  for  their  guests^  he  went  out  to  see  what  had 
happened 


DESERT  GOLD 

The  villagers  were  pretty  badly  frightened.  Many  oi 
the  poorly  constructed  adobe  huts  had  crumbled  almost 
into  dust  A  great  yellow  cloud,  like  smoke,  hung  over 
the  river.  This  appeared  to  be  at  the  upper  end  of  Beld 
ing's  plot,  and  close  to  the  river.  When  he  reached  his 
fence  the  smoke  and  dust  were  so  thick  he  could  scarcely 
breathe,  and  for  a  little  while  he  was  unable  to  see  what 
had  happened.  Presently  he  made  out  a  huge  hole  in  the 
sand  just  about  where  the  irrigation  ditch  had  stopped 
near  his  line.  For  some  reason  or  other,  not  clear  to 
Belding,  the  Mexicans  had  set  off  an  extraordinarily 
heavy  blast  at  that  point. 

Belding  pondered.  He  did  not  now  for  a  moment  con 
sider  an  accidental  discharge  of  dynamite.  Bui  why  had 
this  blast  been  set  off  ?  The  loose  sandy  soil  had  yielded 
readily  to  shovel;  there  were  no  rocks;  as  far  as  con 
struction  of  a  ditch  was  concerned  such  a  blast  would 
have  done  more  harm  than  good. 

Slowly,  with  reluctant  feet,  Belding  walked  toward  a 
green  hollow,  where  in  a  cluster  of  willows  lay  the  never- 
failing  spring  that  his  horses  loved  so  well,  and,  indeed, 
which  he  loved  no  less.  He  was  actually  afraid  to  part 
the  drooping  willows  to  enter  the  little  cool,  shady  path 
that  led  to  the  spring  Then,  suddenly  seized  by  suspense, 
he  ran  the  rest  of  the  way. 

He  was  just  in  time  to  see  the  last  of  the  water.  It 
seemed  to  sink  as  in  quicksand.  The  shape  of  the  hole 
had  changed.  The  tremendous  force  of  the  blast  had 
obstructed  or  diverted  the  underground  stream  of  water. 

Belding's  never-failing  spring  had  been  ruined.  What 
had  made  this  little  plot  of  ground  green  and  sweet  and 
fragrant  was  now  no  more.  Belding's  first  feeling  was 
for  the  pity  of  it.  The  pale  Ajo  lilies  would  bloom  no 
more  under  those  willows.  The  willows  themselves  would 
soon  wither  and  die.  He  thought  how  many  times  in 
the  middle  of  hot  summer  nights  he  had  come  down  tc 
uhe  spring  to  drink,  Never  again! 

286 


THE  WHISTLE   OF  A   HORSE 

Suddenly  he  thought  of  Blanco  Diablo.  How  the  great 
white  thoroughbred  had  loved  this  spring!  Belding 
straightened  up  and  looked  with  tear-blurred  eyes  out 
over  the  waste  of  desert  to  the  west.  Never  a  day  passed 
that  he  had  not  thought  of  the  splendid  horse ;  but  this 
moment,  with  its  significant  memory,  was  doubly  keen, 
and  there  came  a  dull  pang  in  his  breast 

"Diablo  will  never  drink  here  again  1"  muttered  Belding. 

The  loss  of  Blanco  Diablo,  though  admitted  and 
mourned  by  Belding,  had  never  seemed  quite  real  until 
this  moment. 

The  pall  of  dust  drifting  over  him,  the  din  of  the  falling 
water  up  at  the  dam:  diverted  Belding's  mind  to  the 
Chases.  All  at  once  he  was  in  the  harsh  grip  of  a  cold  cer 
tainty.  The  blast  had  been  set  off  intentionally  to  ruin 
his  spring.  What  a  hellish  trick  I  No  Westerner,  no  In 
dian  or  Mexican,  no  desert  man  could  have  been  guilty 
of  such  a  crime.  To  ruin  a  beautiful,  clear,  cool,  never- 
failing  stream  of  water  in  the  desert ! 

It  was  then  that  Belding's  worry  and  indecision  and 
brooding  were  as  if  they  had  never  existed.  As  he  strode 
swiftly  back  to  the  house,  his  head,  which  had  long  been 
bent  thoughtfully  and  sadly,  was  held  erect  He  went 
directly  to  his  room,  and  with  an  air  that  was  now  final 
he  buckled  on  his  gun  belt.  He  looked  the  gun  over  and 
tried  the  action,  He  squared  himself  and  walked  a  little 
more  erect.  Some  long-lost  individuality  had  returned 
to  Belding. 

"Let's  see,"  he  was  saying.  "I  can  get  Carter  to  send 
the  horses  I've  got  left  back  to  Waco  to  my  brother. 
I'll  make  Nell  take  what  money  there  is  and  go  hunt  up 
her  mother.  The  Gales  are  ready  to  go — to-day,  if  I  say 
the  word.  Nell  can  travel  with  them  part  way  East 
That's  your  game,  Tom  Belding,  don't  mistake  me." 

As  he  went  out  he  encountered  Mr.  Gale  coming  up  the 
walk.  The  long  sojourn  at  Forlorn  Rivers  despite  the 
fact  that  it  had  been  laden  with  a  suspense  which  was 

287 


DESERT  GOLD 

gradually  changing  to  a  sad  certainty,  had  been  of  great 
benefit  to  Dick's  father.  The  dry  air,  the  heat,  and  the 
quiet  had  made  him,  if  not  entirely  a  well  man,  certainly 
stronger  than  he  had  been  in  many  years. 

''Belding,  what  was  that  terrible  roar?"  asked  Mr. 
Gale,  "We  were  badly  frightened  until  Miss  Nell  came 
to  us,  We  feared  it  was  an  earthquake." 

"Well,  !'il  tell  vout  Mr  Gale,  we've  had  some  quakes 
here,  but  none  of  them  could  hold  a  candle  to  this  jar  we 
just  had.'9 

Then  Belding  explained  what  had  caused  the  explosion, 
and  why  it  had  been  set  off  so  close  to  his  property. 

'It's  an  outrage,  sir,  an  unspeakable  outrage,"  declared 
Mr  Gale,  hotly.  "Such  a  thing  would  not  be  tolerated 
it  the  East  Mr.  Belding,  I'm  amazed  at  your  attitude 
in  the  face  of  all  this  trickery." 

"You  see — there  was  mother  and  Nell/'  began  Belding, 
as  if  apologizing.  He  dropped  his  head  a  little  and  made 
marks  in  the  sand  with  the  toe  of  his  boot  "Mr,  Gale, 
I've  been  sort  of  half  hitchtd,  as  Laddy  used  to  say.  I'm 
planning  to  have  a  little  more  elbow  room  round  this 
ranch.  I'm  going  to  send  Nell  East  to  her  mother. 
Then  I'll—  See  here,  Mr.  G&le,  would  you  mind  having 
Nell  with  you  part  way  when  you  go  home  ?" 

"We'd  all  be  delighted  to  have  her  go  all  the  wc\y  and 
make  us  a  visit,"  replied  Mr.  Gale. 

"That's  fine.  And  you'll  be  going  soon?  Don't  take 
that  as  if  I  wanted  to — "  Belding  paused,  for  the  truth 
was  that  he  did  want  to  hurry  them  off. 

"We  would  have  been  gone  before  this,  but  for  you," 
said  Mr.  Gale.  "Long  ago  we  gave  up  hope  of — of 
Richard  ever  returning.  And  I  believe,  now  we're  sure 
he  was  lost,  that  we'd  do  well  to  go  home  at  once.  You 
wished  us  to  remain  till  the  heat  was  broken — till  the  rains 
came  to  make  traveling  easier  for  us.  Now  I  see  no  need 
for  further  delay.  My  stay  here  has  greatly  benefited 
*ny  health,  I  shall  never  forget  your  hospitality.  This 

288 


THE  WHISTLE   OF   A    HORSE 

Western  trip  would  have  made  me  a  new  man  if— only- 
Richard—" 

"Sure.  I  understand,"  said  Belding,  gruffly,  ''Let's 
go  in  and  tell  the  women  to  pack  up." 

Nell  was  busy  with  the  servants  preparing  breakfast. 
Belding  took  her  into  the  sitting-room  while  Mr0  Gale 
called  his  wife  and  daughter. 

"My  girl,  I've  some  news  for  you,"  began  Belding. 
"Mr.  Gale  is  leaving  to-day  with  his  family.  I'm  going 
to  send  you  with  them — part  way,  anyhow.  You're  in 
vited  to  visit  them.  I  think  that'd  be  great  for  you— 
help  you  to  forget.  But  the  main  thing  is— you're  going 
East  to  join  mother." 

Nell  gazed  at  him,  white- faced,  without  uttering  a  word. 
"You  see,  Nell,  I'm  about  done  in  Forlorn  River," 
went  on  Belding.  "That  blast  this  morning  sank  my 
spring.  There's  no  water  now.  It  was  the  last  straw. 
So  we'll  shake  the  dust  of  Forlorn  River.  I'll  come  on 
a  little  later— that's  all." 

"Dad,  you're  packing  your  gun!"  exclaimed  Nell, 
suddenly  pointing  with  a  trembling  finger.  She  ran  to 
him,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  Belding  put  her 
away  from  him.  His  movements  had  lost  the  old  slow 
gentleness. 

"Why,  so  I  am,"  replied  Belding,  coolly,  as  his  hand 
moved  down  to  the  sheath  swinging  at  his  hip.    "Nell 
I'm  that  absent-minded  these  days!" 
"Dad!"  she  cried. 

"That  '11  do  from  you,"  he  replied,  in  a  voice  he  had 
never  used  to  her.  "Get  breakfast  now,  then  pack  to 
leave  Forlorn  River." 

"Leave  Forlorn  River!"  whispered  Nell,  with  a  thin 

white  hand  stealing  up  to  her  breast.  How  changed  the  girl 

was!    Belding  reproached  himself  for  his  hardness,  but 

did  not  speak  his  thought  aloud.    Nell  was  fading  here, 

just  as  Mercedes  had  faded  before  the  coming  of  Thorne 

Nell  turned  away  to  the  west  window  and  looked  out 

289 


DESERT  GOLD 

across  the  desert  toward  the  dim  blue  peaks  in  the  dis 
tance.  Belding  watched  her ;  likewise  the  Gales ;  and  no 
one  spokeo  There  ensued  a  long  silence.  Belding  felt  a 
lump  rise  in  his  throat.  Nell  laid  her  arm  against  the 
window  frame,  but  gradually  it  dropped,  and  she  was 
leaning  with  her  face  against  the  wood.  A  low  sob  broke 
from  her.  Elsie  Gale  went  to  her,  embraced  her,  took 
the  drooping  head  on  her  shoulder. 

"We've  come  to  be  such  friends,"  she  said.  "I  believe 
it  '11  be  good  for  you  to  visit  me  in  the  city.  Here — all  day 
you  look  out  across  that  awful  lonely  desert. ...  Come, 
Nell." 

Heavy  steps  sounded  outside  on  the  flagstones,  then  the 
door  rattled  under  a  strong  knock.  Belding  opened  it. 
The  Chases,  father  and  son,  stood  beyond  the  threshold. 

"Good  morning,  Belding,"  said  the  elder  Chase.  "We 
were  routed  out  early  by  that  big  blast  and  came  up  to 
see  what  was  wrong.  All  a  blunder.  The  Greaser  fore 
man  was  drunk  yesterday,  and  his  ignorant  men  made  a 
mistake.  Sorry  if  the  blast  bothered  you." 

"Chase,  I  reckon  that's  the  first  of  your  blasts  I  was 
ever  glad  to  hear,"  replied  Belding,  in  a  way  that  made 
Chase  look  blank. 

"So?  Well,  I'm  glad  you're  glad,"  he  went  on,  evi 
dently  puzzled.  "I  was  a  little  worried — you've  always 
been  so  touchy — we  never  could  get  together.  I  hurried 
over,  fearing  maybe  you  might  think  the  blast — you  see, 
Belding—" 

"I  see  this,  Mr.  Ben  Chase,"  interrupted  Belding,  in 
curt  and  ringing  voice.  "The  blast  was  a  mistake,  the 
biggest  you  ever  made  in  your  life." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Chase. 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  me  for  a  while,  unless  you're 
dead  set  on  having  it  out  right  now.  Mr.  Gale  and  his 
family  are  leaving,  and  my  daughter  is  going  with  them. 
I'd  rather  you'd  wait  a  little." 

"Nell  going  away!"  exclaimed  Radford  Chase.     He 

2QO 


THE  WHISTLE  OF  A  HORSE 

reminded  Belding  of  an  overgrown  boy  in  disappoint 
ment. 

"Yes.   But — Miss  Burton  to  you,  young  man — " 

"Mr.  Belding,  I  certainly  would  prefer  a  conference 
with  you  right  now,"  interposed  the  elder  Chase,  cutting 
short  Belding's  strange  speech.  "There  are  other  mat 
ters — important  matters  to  discuss.  They've  got  to  be 
settled.  May  we  step  in,  sir?" 

"No,  you  may  not,"  replied  Belding,  bluntly.  "I'm 
sure  particular  who  I  invite  into  my  house.  But  I'll 
go  with  you." 

Belding  stepped  out  and  closed  the  door.  "Come  away 
from  the  house  so  the  women  won't  hear  the — the  talk." 

The  elder  Chase  was  purple  with  rage,  yet  seemed  to 
be  controlling  it.  The  younger  man  looked  black,  sullen, 
impatient.  He  appeared  not  to  have  a  thought  of  Beld 
ing.  He  was  absolutely  blind  to  the  situation,  as  con- 
sidered  from  Belding's  point  of  view.  Ben  Chase  found 
his  voice  about  the  time  Belding  halted  under  the  trees 
out  of  earshot  from  the  house. 

"Sir,  you've  insulted  me — my  son.  How  dare  you? 
I  want  you  to  understand  that  you're — "' 

"Chop  that  kind  of  talk  with  me,  you • 

!"  interrupted  Belding.  He  had  always 

been  profane,  and  now  he  certainly  did  not  choose  his 
language.  Chase  turned  livid,  gasped,  and  seemed  about 
to  give  way  to  fury.  But  something  about  Belding  evi 
dently  exerted  a  powerful  quieting  influence.  "If  you 
talk  sense  I'll  listen,"  went  on  Belding. 

Belding  was  frankly  curious.  He  did  not  think  any 
argument  or  inducement  offered  by  Chase  could  change 
his  mind  on  past  dealings  or  his  purpose  of  the  present. 
But  he  believed  by  listening  he  might  get  some  light  on 
what  had  long  puzzled  him.  The  masterly  effort  Chase 
put  forth  to  conquer  his  aroused  passions  gave  Belding 
another  idea  of  the  character  of  this  promoter. 

"I  want  to  make  a  last  effort  to  propitiate  you,"  began 

2QI 


DESERT  GOLD 

Chase,  in  his  quick,  smooth  voice.  That  was  a  singulai 
change  to  Belding — the  dropping  instantly  into  an  easy 
flow  of  speech.  "You've  had  losses  here,  and  naturally 
you're  soree  I  don't  blame  you.  But  you  can't  see  this 
thing  from  my  side  of  the  fence.  Business  is  business. 
In  business  the  best  man  wins.  The  law  upheld  those 
transactions  of  mine  the  honesty  of  which  you  questioned. 
As  to  mining  and  water  claims,  you  lost  on  this  technical 
point — that  you  had  nothing  to  prove  you  had  held  them 
for  five  years.  Five  years  is  the  time  necessary  in  law.  A 
dozen  men  might  claim  the  source  of  Forlorn  River,  but 
if  they  had  no  house  or  papers  to  prove  their  squatters' 
rights  any  man  could  go  in  and  fight  them  for  the  water. 
. .  ,  Now  I  want  to  run  that  main  ditch  along  the  river, 
through  your  farm.  Can't  we  make  a  deal?  I'm  ready 
to  be  liberal — to  meet  you  more  than  halfway.  I'll  give 
you  an  interest  in  the  company.  I  think  I've  influence 
enough  up  at  the  Capitol  to  have  you  reinstated  as  in 
spector.  A  little  reasonableness  on  your  part  will  put  you 
right  again  in  Forlorn  River,  with  a  chance  of  growing 
rich.  There's  a  big  future  here.  .  „  .  My  interest,  Belding, 
has  become  personal.  Radford  is  in  love  with  your  step 
daughter.  He  wants  to  marry  her.  I'll  admit  now  if 
I  had  foreseen  this  situation  I  wouldn't  have  pushed  you 
so  hard.  But  we  can  square  the  thing.  Now  let's  get 
together  not  only  in  business,  but  in  a  family  way.  If 
my  son's  happiness  depends  upon  having  this  girl,  you 
may  rest  assured  I'll  do  all  I  can  to  get  her  for  him.  I'll 
absolutely  make  good  all  your  losses.  Now  what  do  you 
say?" 

"No,"  replied  Belding.  "Your  money  can't  buy  a 
right  of  way  across  my  ranch.  And  Nell  doesn't  want 
your  son.  That  settles  that." 

"But  you  could  persuade  her." 

"I  won't,  that's  all.3' 

c  May  I  ask  why?"  Chase's  voice  was  losing  its  suave 
quality,,  but  it  was  even  swifter  than  before. 

2Q2 


THE  WHISTLE   OF   A   HORSE 

"Sure.  I  don't  mind  your  asking,"  replied  Belding, 
in  slow  deliberation.  "I  wouldn't  do  such  a  low-down 
trick.  Besides,  if  I  would,  I'd  want  it  to  be  a  man  I  was 
persuading  for.  I  know  Greasers — I  know  a  Yaqui  I'd 
rather  give  Nell  to  than  your  son." 

Radford  Chase  began  to  roar  in  inarticulate  rage. 
Belding  paid  no  attention  to  him ;  indeed,  he  never  glanced 
at  the  young  man.  The  elder  Chase  checked  a  violent 
start.  He  plucked  at  the  collar  of  his  gray  flannel  shirt, 
opened  it  at  the  neck. 

"My  son's  offer  of  marriage  is  an  honor — more  an 
honor,  sir,  than  you  perhaps  are  aware  of." 

Belding  made  no  reply.  His  steady  gaze  did  not  tuni 
from  the  long  lane  that  led  down  to  the  river.  He  waited 
coldly,  sure  of  himself. 

"Mrs.  Belding's  daughter  has  no  right  to  the  name  of 
Burton,"  snapped  Chase.  "Did  you  know  that?" 

"I  did  not/'  replied  Belding,  quietly. 

"Well,  you  know  it  now,"  added  Chase,  biHngly. 

"Sure  you  can  prove  what  you  say?"  queried  Belding, 
in  the  same  cool,  unemotional  tone.  It  struck  him 
strangely  at  the  moment  what  little  knowledge  this  man 
had  of  the  West  and  of  Western  character. 

"Prove  it?  Why,  yes,  I  think  so,  enough  to  make 
the  truth  plain  to  any  reasonable  man.  I  come  from 
Peoria — was  born  and  raised  there.  I  went  to  school 
with  Nell  Warren.  That  was  your  wife's  maiden  name. 
She  was  a  beautiful,  gay  girl.  All  the  fellows  were  in 
love  with  her.  I  knew  Bob  Burton  well.  He  was  a 
splendid  fellow,  but  wild.  Nobody  ever  knew  for  sure, 
but  we  all  supposed  he  was  engaged  to  marry  Nell.  He 
left  Peoria,  however,  and  soon  after  that  the  truth  about 
Nell  came  out.  She  ran  away.  It  was  at  least  a  couple 
of  months  before  Burton  showed  up  in  Peoria.  He  did 
not  stay  long.  Then  for  years  nothing  was  heard  of  either 
of  them.  When  word  did  come  Nell  was  in  Oklahoma, 
Burton  was  in  Denver.  There's  a  chance,  of  coursCj  th?»* 

293 


DESERT  GOLD 

Burton  followed  Nell  and  married  her.  That  would 
account  for  Nell  Warren  taking  the  name  of  Burton. 
But  it  isn't  likely.  None  of  us  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing 
and  wouldn't  have  believed  it  if  we  had.  The  affair 
seemed  destined  to  end  unfortunately.  But  Belding, 
while  I'm  at  it,  I  want  to  say  that  Nell  Warren  was  one 
of  the  sweetest,  finest,  truest  girls  in  the  world.  If  she 
drifted  to  the  Southwest  and  kept  her  past  a  secret  that 
was  only  natural.  Certainly  it  should  not  be  held  against 
her.  Why,  she  was  only  a  child — a  girl — seventeen — 

eighteen  years  old In  a  moment  of  amazement — 

when  I  recognized  your  wife  as  an  old  schoolmate — I 
blurted  the  thing  out  to  Radford.  You  see  now  how  little 
it  matters  to  me  when  I  ask  your  stepdaughter's  hand  in 
marriage  for  my  son." 

Belding  stood  listening.  The  genuine  emotion  in 
Chase's  voice  was  as  strong  as  the  ring  of  truth.  Belding 
knew  truth  when  he  heard  it.  The  revelation  did  not 
surprise  him.  Belding  did  not  soften,  for  he  divined  that 
Chase's  emotion  was  due  to  the  probing  of  an  old  wound, 
the  recalling  of  a  past  both  happy  and  painful.  Still, 
human  nature  was  so  strange  that  perhaps  kindness  and 
sympathy  might  yet  have  a  place  in  this  Chase's  heart, 
Belding  did  not  believe  so,  but  he  was  willing  to  give 
Chase  the  benefit  of  the  doubt. 

"So  you  told  my  wife  you'd  respect  her  secret — keep 
her  dishonor  from  husband  and  daughter?"  demanded 
Belding,  his  dark  gaze  sweeping  back  from  the  lane. 

"What!     I— I—"  stammered  Chase. 

"You  made  your  son  swear  to  be  a  man  and  die  before 
he'd  hint  the  thing  to  Nell?"  went  on  Belding,  and  his 
voice  rang  louder. 

Ben  Chase  had  no  answer.  The  red  left  his  face.  His 
son  slunk  back  against  the  fence. 

"I  say  you  never  held  this  secret  over  the  heads  of  my 
wife  and  her  daughter?"  thundered  Belding. 

He  had  his  answer  in  the  gray  faces,  in  the  lips  that  fear 

294 


THE  WHISTLE  OF  A   HORSE 

made  mute.  Like  a  flash  Bfclding  saw  the  whole  truth  of 
Mrs.  Belding's  agony,  the  reason  for  her  departure;  he 
saw  what  had  been  driving  Nell ;  and  it  seemed  that  all 
the  dogs  of  hell  were  loosed  within  his  heart.  He  struck 
out  blindly,  instinctively  in  his  pain,  and  the  blow  sent 
Ben  Chase  staggering  into  the  fence  corner.  Then  he 
stretched  forth  a  long  arm  and  whirled  Radford  Chase 
back  beside  his  father. 

"I  see  it  all  now,"  went  on  Belding,  hoarsely.  "You 
found  the  woman's  weakness — her  love  for  the  girl. 
You  found  the  girl's  weakness — her  pride  and  fear  of 
shame.  So  you  drove  the  one  and  hounded  the  other. 
God,  what  a  base  thing  to  do !  To  tell  the  girl  was  bad 
enough,  but  to  threaten  her  with  betrayal;  there's  no 
name  for  that !" 

Belding's  voice  thickened,  and  he  paused,  breathing 
heavily.  He  stepped  back  a  few  paces;  and  this,  an 
ominous  action  for  an  armed  man  of  his  kind,  instead  of 
adding  to  the  fear  of  the  Chases,  seemed  to  relieve  them. 
If  there  had  been  any  pity  in  Belding's  heart  he  would 
have  felt  it  then. 

"And  now,  gentlemen,"  continued  Belding,  speaking 
low  and  with  difficulty,  "seeing  I've  turned  down  your 
proposition,  I  suppose  you  think  you've  no  more  call  to 
keep  your  mouths  shut?" 

The  elder  Chase  appeared  fascinated  by  something  he 
either  saw  or  felt  in  Belding,  and  his  gray  face  grew 
grayer.  He  put  up  a  shaking  hand.  Then  Radford  Chase, 
livid  and  snarling,  burst  out :  "I'll  talk  till  I'm  black  in 
the  face.  You  can't  stop  me!" 

"You'll  go  black  in  the  face,  but  it  won't  be  from  talk 
ing,''  hissed  Belding. 

His  big  arm  swept  down,  and  when  he  threw  it  up  the 
gun  glittered  in  his  hand.  Simultaneously  with  the  latter 
action  pealed  out  a  shrill,  penetrating  whistle. 

The  whistle  of  a  horse !  It  froze  Belding's  arm  aloft 
For  an  instant  he  could  not  move  even  his  eyes.  The 

295      -. 


DESERT  GOLD 

familiarity  of  that  whistle  was  terrible  in  its  power  to 
rob  him  of  strength.  Then  he  heard  the  rapid,  heavy 
pound  of  hoofs,  and  again  the  piercing  whistle. 

"Blanco  Diablo!"  he  cried,  huskily. 

He  turned  to  see  a  huge  white  horse  come  thundering 
into  the  yard.  A  wild,  gaunt,  terrible  horse ;  indeed,  the 
loved  Blanco  Diablo.  A  bronzed,  long-haired  Indian 
bestrode  him.  More  white  horses  galloped  into  the  yard, 
pounded  to  a  halt,  whistling  home.  Belding  saw  a  slim 
shadow  of  a  girl  who  seemed  all  great  black  eyes. 

Under  the  trees  flashed  Blanco  Sol,  as  dazzling  white, 
as  beautiful  as  if  he  had  never  been  lost  in  the  desert.  He 
slid  to  a  halt,  then  plunged  and  stamped.  His  rider 
leaped,  throwing  the  bridle.  Belding  saw  a  powerful, 
spare,  ragged  man,  with  dark,  gaunt  face  and  eyes  of 
flame. 

Then  Nell  came  running  from  the  house,  her  golden 
hair  flying,  her  hands  outstretched,  her  face  wonderful. 

"Dick!  Dick!  Oh-h-h,  Dick!"  she  cried.  Her  voice 
seemed  to  quiver  in  Belding's  heart. 

Belding's  eyes  began  to  blur.  He  was  not  sure  he  saw 
clearly.  Whose  face  was  this  now  close  before  him — a 
long  thin,  shrunken  face,  haggard,  tragic  in  its  semblance 
of  torture,  almost  of  death  ?  But  the  eyes  were  keen  and 
kind.  Belding  thought  wildly  that  they  proved  he  was 
not  dreaming. 

"I  shore  am  glad  to  see  you  all,*'  said  a  well-remem- 
>ered  voice  in  a  slow,  cool  drawl. 


xvni 

REALITY  AGAINST  DREAMS 

LVDD,  Lash,  Thome,  Mercedes,  they  were  all  held 
tight  in  Belding's  arms.  Then  he  ran  to  Blanco 
Diablo.  For  once  the  great  horse  was  gentle,  quiet,  glad. 
He  remembered  this  kindest  of  masters  and  reached  for 
him  with  warm,  wet  muzzle. 

Dick  Gale  was  standing  bowed  over  Nell's  slight  form, 
almost  hidden  in  his  arms.  Belding  hugged  them  both. 
He  was  like  a  boy.  He  saw  Ben  Chase  and  his  son  slip 
away  under  the  trees,  but  the  circumstance  meant  nothing 
to  him  then. 

"Dick!  Dick!"  he  roared.  "Is  it  you?,..  Say,  who 
do  you  think's  here — here,  in  Forlorn  River  ?*' 

Gale  gripped  Belding  with  a  hand  as  rough  and  hard  as 
a  file  and  as  strong  as  a  vise.  But  he  did  not  speak  a 
word.  Belding  thought  Gale's  eyes  would  haunt  him 
forever. 

It  was  then  three  more  persons  came  upon  the  scene — 
Elsie  Gale,  running  swiftly,  her  father  assisting  Mrs. 
Gale,  who  appeared  about  to  faint. 

"Belding!  Who  on  earth's  that?"  cried  Dick,  hoarsely. 

"Quien  sabe,  my  son/'  replied  Belding;  and  now  his 
voice  seemed  a  little  shaky.  "Nell,  come  here.  Give 
him  a  chance." 

Belding  slipped  his  arm  round  Nell,  and  whispered  in 
her  ear.  "This  '11  be  great !" 

Elsie  Gale's  face  was  white  and  agitated,  a  face  ex 
pressing  extreme  joy. 

"Oh,  brother!  Mama  saw  you — Papa  saw  vou,  and 

20,7 


DESERT  GOLD 

never  knew  you!  But  I  knew  you  when  you  jumped 
quick — that  way — off  your  horse.  And  now  I  don't  know 
you.  You  wild  man!  You  giant!  You  splendid  bar 
barian  ! . . .  Mama,  Papa,  hurry !  It  is  Dick !  Look  at 
him.  Just  look  at  him !  Oh-h,  thank  God !" 

Belding  turned  away  and  drew  Nell  with  him.  In  anoth 
er  second  she  and  Mercedes  were  clasped  in  each  other's 
arms.  Then  followed  a  time  of  joyful  greetings  all  round. 

The  Yaqui  stood  leaning  against  a  tree  watching  the 
welcoming  home  of  the  lost.  No  one  seemed  to  think  of 
him,  until  Belding,  ever  mindful  of  the  needs  of  horses, 
put  a  hand  on  Blanco  Diablo  and  called  to  Yaqui  to  bring 
the  others.  They  led  the  string  of  whites  down  to  the 
barn,  freed  them  of  wet  and  dusty  saddles  and  packs,  and 
turned  them  loose  in  the  alfalfa,  now  breast-high.  Diablo 
found  his  old  spirit;  Blanco  Sol  tossed  his  head  and 
whistled  his  satisfaction;  White  Woman  pranced  to  and 
fro;  and  presently  they  all  settled  down  to  quiet  graz 
ing.  How  good  it  was  for  Belding  to  see  those  white 
shapes  against  the  rich  background  of  green !  His  eyes 
glistened.  It  was  a  sight  he  had  never  expected  to  see 
again.  He  lingered  there  many  moments  when  he  wanted 
to  hurry  back  to  his  rangers. 

At  last  he  tore  himself  away  from  watching  Blanco 
Diablo  and  returned  to  the  house.  It  was  only  to  find 
that  he  might  have  spared  himself  the  hurry.  Jim  and 
Ladd  were  lying  on  the  beds  that  had  not  held  them  for 
so  many  months.  Their  slumber  seemed  as  deep  and  quiet 
as  death.  Curiously  Belding  gazed  down  upon  them. 
They  had  removed  only  boots  and  chaps.  Their  clothes 
were  in  tatters.  Jim  appeared  little  more  than  skin  and 
bones,  a  long  shape,  dark  and  hard  as  iron.  Ladd's  ap 
pearance  shocked  Belding.  The  ranger  looked  an  old 
man,  blasted,  shriveled,  starved.  Yet  his  gaunt  face, 
though  terrible  in  its  records  of  tortures,  had  something 
fine  and  noble,  even  beautiful  to  Belding,  in  its  strength, 
its  victory. 

298 


REALITY   AGAINST   DREAMS 

Thorne  and  Mercedes  had  disappeared.  The  low  mur 
mur  of  voices  came  from  Mrs.  Gale's  room,  and  Belding 
concluded  that  Dick  was  still  with  his  family.  No  doubt 
he,  also,  would  soon  seek  rest  and  sleep.  Belding  went 
through  the  patio  and  called  in  at  Nell's  door.  She  was 
there  sitting  by  her  window.  The  flush  of  happiness  had 
not  left  her  face,  but  she  looked  stunned,  and  a  shadow 
of  fear  lay  dark  in  her  eyes.  Belding  had  intended  to 
talk.  He  wanted  some  one  to  listen  to  him.  The  ex 
pression  in  Nell's  eyes,  however,  silenced  him.  He  had 
forgotten.  Nell  read  his  thought  in  his  face,  and  then  she 
lost  all  her  color  and  dropped  her  head.  Belding  entered, 
stood  beside  her  with  a  hand  on  hers.  He  tried  desperate 
ly  hard  to  think  of  the  right  thing  to  say,  and  realized  so 
long  as  he  tried  that  he  could  not  speak  at  all. 

"Nell — Dick's  back  safe  and  sound,"  he  said,  slowly. 
'That's  the  main  thing.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  his 

tfyes  when  he  held  you  in  his  arms  out  there Of 

course,  Dick's  coming  knocks  out  your  trip  East  and 
changes  plans  generally.  We  haven't  had  the  happiest 
time  lately.  But  now  it  '11  all  be  different.  Dick's  as  true 
as  a  Yaqui.  He'll  chase  that  Chase  fellow,  don't  mistake 
me. . . .  Then  mother  will  be  home  soon.  SheTll  straighten 
out  this — this  mystery.  And  Nell — however  it  turns  outi 
— I  know  Dick  Gale  will  feel  just  the  same  as  I  feel. 
Brace  up  now,  girl." 

Belding  left  the  patio  and  traced  thoughtful  steps  back 
toward  the  corrals.  He  realized  the  need  of  his  wife. 
If  she  had  been  at  home  he  would  not  have  come  so  close 
to  killing  two  men.  Nell  would  never  have  fallen  so  low 
in  spirit.  Whatever  the  real  truth  of  the  tragedy  of  his 
wife's  life,  it  would  not  make  the  slightest  difference  to 
him.  What  hurt  him  was  the  pain  mother  and  daughter 
had  suffered,  were  suffering  still.  Somehow  he  must  put 
an  end  to  that  pain. 

He  found  the  Yaqui  curled  up  in  a  corner  of  the  bam 
in  as  deep  a  sleep  as  that  of  the  rangers.  Looking  down 

299 


DESERT  GOLD 

at  him,  Belding  felt  again  the  rush  of  curious  thrilling 
eagerness  to  learn  all  that  had  happened  since  the  dark 
night  when  Yaqui  had  led  the  white  horses  away  into  the 
desert.  Belding  curbed  his  impatience  and  set  to  work 
upon  tasks  he  had  long  neglected.  Presently  he  was 
interrupted  by  Mr.  Gale,  who  came  out,  beside  himself 
with  happiness  and  excitement.  He  flung  a  hundred 
questions  at  Belding  and  never  gave  him  time  to  answer 
one,  even  if  that  had  been  possible.  Finally,  when  Mr. 
Gale  lost  his  breath,  Belding  got  a  word  in.  "See  here, 
Mr.  Gale,  you  know  as  much  as  I  know.  Dick's  back. 
They're  all  back — a  hard  lot,  starved,  burned,  torn  to 
pieces,  worked  out  to  the  limit  I  never  saw  in  desert 
travelers,  but  they're  alive — alive  and  well,  man!  Just 
wait.  Just  gamble  I  won't  sleep  or  eat  till  I  hear  that 
story.  But  they've  got  to  sleep  and  eat." 

Belding  gathered  with  growing  amusement  that  besides 
the  joy,  excitement,  anxiety,  impatience  expressed  by  Mr. 
Gale  there  was  something  else  which  Belding  took  for 
pride.  It  pleased  him.  Looking  back,  he  remembered 
some  of  the  things  Dick  had  confessed  his  father  thought 
of  him.  Belding's  sympathy  had  always  been  with  the 
boy.  But  he  had  learned  to  like  the  old  man,  to  find  him 
kind  and  wise,  and  to  think  that  perhaps  college  and  busi 
ness  had  not  brought  out  the  best  in  Richard  Gale.  The 
West  had  done  that,  however,  as  it  had  for  many  a  wild 
youngster;  and  Belding  resolved  to  have  a  little  fun  at 
the  expense  of  Mr.  Gale.  So  he  began  by  making  a  few 
remarks  that  appeared  to  rob  Dick's  father  of  both 
speech  and  breath. 

"And  don't  mistake  me,"  concluded  Belding,  "just 
keep  out  of  earshot  when  Laddy  tells  us  the  story  of  that 
desert  trip,  unless  you're  hankering  to  have  your  hair  turn 
pure  white  and  stand  curled  on  end  and  freeze  that  way." 

About  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  on  the  following  day 
the  rangers  hobbled  out  of  the  kitchen  to  the  porch. 

300 


REALITY   AGAINST   DREAMS 

"I'm  a  sick  man,  I  tell  you,"  Ladd  was  complaining, 
"an'  I  gotta  be  fed.  Soup!  Beef  tea!  That  ain't  so 
much  as  wind  to  me.  I  want  about  a  barrel  of  bread 
an*  butter,  an'  a  whole  platter  of  mashed  potatoes  with 
gravy  an'  green  stuff — all  kinds  of  green  stuff — an'  a 
whole  big  apple  pie.  Give  me  everythin'  an'  anythin'  to 
eat  but  meat.  Shore  I  never,  never  want  to  taste  meat 
again,  an'  sight  of  a  piece  of  sheep  meat  would  jest  about 

finish  me Jim,  you  used  to  be  a  human  bein'  that 

stood  up  for  Charlie  Ladd." 

"Laddy,  I'm  lined  up  beside  you  with  both  guns,"  replied 
Jim,  plaintively.  "Hungry?  Say,  the  smell  of  breakfast 
in  that  kitchen  made  my  mouth  water  so  I  near  choked  to 
death.  I  reckon  we're  gettin'  most  onhuman  treatment." 

"But  I'm  a  sick  man,"  protested  Ladd,  "an*  I'm  agoin' 
to  fall  over  in  a  minute  if  somebody  doesn't  feed  me. 
Nell,  you  used  to  be  fond  of  me." 

"Oh,  Laddy,  I  am  yet,"  replied  Nell. 

"Shore  I  don't  believe  it.  Any  girl  with  a  tender  heart 
just  couldn't  let  a  man  starve  under  her  eyes. . . .  Look  at 
Dick,  there.  I'll  bet  he's  had  something  to  eat,  mebbe 
potatoes  an'  gravy,  an'  pie  an* — " 

"Laddy,  Dick  has  had  no  more  than  I  gave  you — in 
deed,  not  nearly  so  much." 

"Shore  he's  had  a  lot  of  kisses  then,  for  he  hasn't 
hollered  onct  about  this  treatment." 

"Perhaps  he  has,"  said  Nell,  with  a  blush ;  "and  if  you 
think  that — they  would  help  you  to  be  reasonable  I 
might— I'll— "  ' 

"Well,  powerful  fond  as  I  am  of  you,  just  now  kisses'll 
have  to  run  second  to  bread  an'  butter." 

"Oh,  Laddy,  what  a  gallant  speech!"  laughed  Nell. 
"I'm  sorry,  but  I've  Dad's  orders." 

"Laddy,"  interrupted  Belding,  "you've  got  to  be  broke 
in  gradually  to  eating.  Now  yon  know  that.  You'd 
be  the  severest  kind  of  a  boss  if  you  had  some  starved 
beggars  on  your  hands." 

301 


DESERT  GOLD 

"But  I'm  sick—I'm  dyin',"  howled  Ladd. 

"You  were  never  sick  in  your  life,  and  if  all  the  bullet 
holes  I  see  in  you  couldn't  kill  you,  why,  you  never  will 
die." 

"Can  I  smoke  ?"  queried  Ladd,  with  sudden  animation. 
"My  Gawd,  I  used  to  smoke.  Shore  I've  forgot.  Nell, 
if  you  want  to  be  reinstated  in  my  gallery  of  angels,  just 
find  me  a  pipe  an'  tobacco." 

"I've  hung  onto  my  pipe,"  said  Jim,  thoughtfully.  "I 
reckon  I  had  it  empty  in  my  mouth  for  seven  years  or  so, 
wasn't  it,  Laddy?  A  long  time!  I  can  see  the  red  lava 
an'  the  red  haze,  an'  the  red  twilight  creepin'  up.  It  was 
hot  an'  some  lonely.  Then  the  wind,  and  always  that 
awful  silence!  An'  always  Yaqui  watchin'  the  west,  an' 
Laddy  with  his  checkers,  an'  Mercedes  burnin'  up, 
wastin*  away  to  nothin'  but  eyes !  It's  all  there — I'll  never 
#*  rid—" 

"Chop  that  kind  of  talk,"  interrupted  Belding,  bluntly. 
*Tell  us  where  Yaqui  took  you — what  happened  to  Rojas 
— why  you  seemed  lost  for  so  long." 

"I  reckon  Laddy  can  tell  all  that  best;  but  when  it 
comes  to  Rojas's  finish  I'll  tell  what  I  seen,  an*  so'll  Dick 
an*  Thorne.  Laddy  missed  Rojas's  finish.  Bar  none, 
that  was  the—" 

"I'm  a  sick  man,  but  I  can  talk/'  put  in  Ladd,  "an' 
shore  I  don't  want  the  whole  story  exaggerated  none  by 
Jim." 

Ladd  filled  the  pipe  Nell  brought,  puffed  ecstatically  af 
it,  and  settled  himself  upon  the  bench  for  a  long  talk. 
Nell  glanced  appealingly  at  Dick,  who  tried  to  slip  away. 
Mercedes  did  go,  and  was  followed  by  Thorne.  Mr.  Gale 
brought  chairs,  and  in  subdued  excitement  called  his  wife 
and  daughter.  Belding  leaned  forward,  rendered  all  the 
more  eager  by  Dick's  reluctance  to  stay,  the  memory  of 
the  quick  tragic  change  in  the  expression  of  Mercedes's 
beautiful  eyes,  by  the  strange  gloomy  cast  stealing  over 
Ladd's  face. 

302 


REALITY   AGAINST   DREAMS 

The  ranger  talked  for  two  hours — talked  till  his  voice 
weakened  to  a  husky  whisper.  At  the  conclusion  of  his 
story  there  was  an  impressive  silence.  Then  Elsie  Gale 
stood  up,  and  with  her  hand  on  Dick's  shoulder,  her  eyes 
bright  and  warm  as  sunlight,  she  showed  the  rangers  what 
a  woman  thought  of  them  and  of  the  Yaqui.  Nell  clung 
to  Dick,  weeping  silently.  Mrs.  Gale  was  overcome,  and 
Mr.  Gale,  very  white  and  quiet,  helped  her  up  to  her  room. 

"The  Indian!  the  Indian!"  burst  out  Belding,  his 
voice  deep  and  rolling.  "What  did  I  tell  you?  Didn't 
I  say  he'd  be  a  godsend?  Remember  what  I  said  about 
Yaqui  and  some  gory  Aztec  knifework?  So  he  cut  Rojas 
loose  from  that  awful  crater  wall,  foot  by  foot,  finger  by 
finger,  slow  and  terrible?  And  Rojas  didn't  hang  long  on 
the  choya  thorns  ?  Thank  the  Lord  for  that ! . . .  Laddy, 
no  story  of  Camino  del  Diablo  can  hold  a  candle  to  yours. 
The  flight  and  the  fight  were  jobs  for  men.  But  living 
through  this  long  hot  summer  and  coming  out — that's 
a  miracle.  Only  the  Yaqui  could  have  done  it.  The 
Yaqui!  the  Yaqui!" 

"Shore.  Charlie  Ladd  looks  up  at  an  Indian  these 
days.  But  Beldin',  as  for  the  comin'  out,  don't  forget 
the  bosses.  Without  grand  old  Sol  an*  Diablo,  who  I 
don't  hate  no  more,  an'  the  other  Blancos,  we'd  never 
have  got  here.  Yaqui  an'  the  bosses,  that's  my  story !" 

Early  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  Belding  encoun 
tered  Dick  at  the  water  barrel. 

"Belding,  this  is  river  water,  and  muddy  at  that,"  said 
Dick.  "Lord  knows  I'm  not  kicking.  But  I've  dreamed 
some  of  our  cool  running  spring,  and  I  want  a  drink  from 
it." 

"Never  again,  son.  The  spring's  gone,  faded,  sunk, 
dry  as  dust." 

"Dry!"  Gale  slowly  straightened.  "We've  had  rains. 
The  river's  full.  The  spring  ought  to  be  overflowing. 
W'hat's  wrong?  Why  is  it  dry?" 

303 


DESERT  GOLD 

"Dick,  seeing  you're  interested,  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
that  a  big  charge  of  nitroglycerin  choked  my  spring." 

"Nitroglycerin  ?"  echoed  Gale.  Then  he  gave  a  quick 
start.  "My  mind's  been  on  home,  Nell,  my  family. 
But  all  the  same  I  felt  something  was  wrong  here  with  the 

ranch,  with  you,  with  Nell Belding,  that  ditch  there 

is  dry.  The  roses  are  dead.  The  little  green  in  that 
grass  has  come  with  the  rains.  What's  happened?  The 
ranch's  run  down.  Now  I  look  around  I  see  a  change." 

"Some  change,  yes,"  replied  Belding,  bitterly.  "Listen, 
son." 

Briefly,  but  not  the  less  forcibly  for  that,  Belding  re 
lated  his  story  of  the  operations  of  the  Chases. 

Astonishment  appeared  to  be  Gale's  first  feeling.  "Our 
water  gone,  our  claims  gone,  our  plans  forestalled !  Why, 
Belding,  it's  unbelievable.  Forlorn  River  with  promoters, 
business,  railroad,  bank,  and  what  not !" 

Suddenly  he  became  fiery  and  suspicious.  "These 
Chases — did  they  do  all  this  on  the  level?" 

"Barefaced  robbery!  Worse  than  a  Greaser  holdup," 
replied  Belding,  grimly. 

"You  say  the  law  upheld  them?" 

"Sure.  Why,  Ben  Chase  has  a  pull  as  strong  as  Diablo's 
on  a  down  grade.  Dick,  we're  jobbed,  outfigured,  beat, 
tricked,  and  we  can't  do  a  thing." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry,  Belding,  most  of  all  for  Laddy,"  said 
Gale,  feelingly.  "He's  all  in.  He'll  never  ride  again. 
He  wanted  to  settle  down  here  on  the  farm  he  thought  he 
owned,  grow  grass  and  raise  horses,  and  take  it  easy. 
Oh,  but  it's  tough !  Say,  he  doesn't  know  it  yet.  He  was 
just  telling  me  he'd  like  to  go  out  and  look  the  farm  over. 
Who's  going  to  tell  him  ?  What's  he  going  to  do  when  he 
finds  out  about  this  deal?" 

"Son,  that's  made  me  think  some,"  replied  Belding, 
with  keen  eyes  fast  upon  the  young  man.  "And  I  was 
Snd  of  wondering  how  you'd  take  it." 

"I?    Well,  111  call  on  the  Chases.    Look  here,  BeM- 


REALITY   AGAINST   DREAMS 

ing,  I'd  better  do  some  forestalling  myself.  If  Laddy 
gets  siarted  now  there'll  be  blood  spilled.  He's  not  just 
right  in  his  mind  yet.  He  talks  in  his  sleep  sometimes 
about  how  Yaqui  finished  Rojas.  If  it's  left  to  him — 
he'll  kill  these  men.  But  if  I  take  it  up — " 

"You're  talking  sense,  Dick.  Only  here,  I'm  not  so 
sure  of  you.  And  there's  more  to  tell.  Son,  you've 
Nell  to  think  of  and  your  mother/' 

Belding's  ranger  gave  him  a  long  and  searching  glance 

"You  can  be  sure  of  me,"  he  said. 

"All  right,  then;  listen,"  began  Belding.  Witn  deep 
voice  that  had  many  a  break  and  tremor  he  told  Gale  how 
Nell  had  been  hounded  by  Radf  ord  Chase,  how  her  mother 
had  been  driven  by  Ben  Chase — the  whole  sad  story. 

"So  that's  the  trouble!  Poor  little  girl!"  murmured 
Gale,  brokenly.  "I  felt  something  was  wrong.  Nell 
wasn't  natural,  like  her  old  self.  And  when  I  begged  her 
to  marry  me  soon,  while  Dad  was  here,  she  couldn't  talk. 
She  could  only  cry." 

"It  was  hard  on  Nell/'  said  Belding,  simply.  "But 
it  '11  be  better  now  you're  back.  Dick,  I  know  the  girl. 
She'll  refuse  to  marry  you  and  you'll  have  a  hard  job  to 
break  her  down,  as  hard  as  the  one  you  just  rode  in  off 
of.  I  think  I  know  you,  too,  or  I  wouldn't  be  saying — '' 

"Belding,  what  're  you  hinting  at?"  demanded  Gale. 
"Do  you  dare  insinuate  that — that — if  the  thing  were 
true  it  'd  make  any  difference  to  me  ?" 

"Aw,  come  now,  Dick;  I  couldn't  mean  that.  Pm 
only  awkward  at  saying  things.  And  I'm  cut  pretty 
deep—" 

"For  God's  sake,  you  don't  believe  what  Chase  said?" 
queried  Gale,  in  passionate  haste.  "It's  a  lie.  I  swear 
it's  a  lie.  I  know  it's  a  lie.  And  I've  got  to  tell  Nell 
this  minute.  Come  on  in  with  me.  I  want  you,  Belding. 
Oh,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  sooner?" 

Belding  felt  himself  dragged  by  an  iron  arm  into  the 
sitting-room,  out  into  the  patio,  and  across  that  to  where 

305 


DESERT  GOLD 

Nell  sat  in  her  door.  At  sight  of  them  she  gave  a  little 
cry,  drooped  for  an  instant,  then  raised  a  pale,  still  face, 
with  eyes  beginning  to  darken. 

"Dearest,  I  know  now  why  you  are  not  wearing  my 
mother's  ring,"  said  Gale,  steadily  and  low-voiced. 

"Dick,  I  am  not  worthy,''  she  replied,  and  held  out  a 
trembling  hand  with  the  ring  lying  in  the  palm. 

Swift  as  light  Gale  caught  her  hand  and  slipped  the 
ring  back  upon  the  third  finger. 

"Nell !  Look  at  me.  It  is  your  engagement  ring 

Listen.  I  don't  believe  this — this  thing  that's  been  tor 
turing  you.  I  know  it's  a  lie.  I  am  absolutely  sure  your 
mother  will  prove  it  a  lie.  She  must  have  suffered  once — 
perhaps  there  was  a  sad  error — but  the  thing  you  fear  is 
not  true.  But,  hear  me,  dearest;  even  if  it  was  true  it 
wouldn't  make  the  slightest  difference  to  me.  I'd  promise 
you  on  my  honor  I'd  never  think  of  it  again.  I'd  love  you 
all  the  more  because  you'd  suffered.  I  want  you  all  the 
more  to  be  my  wife — to  let  me  make  you  forget — to — " 

She  rose  swiftly  with  the  passionate  abandon  of  a 
woman  stirred  to  her  depths,  and  she  kissed  him. 

"Oh,  Dick,  you're  good — so  good!  You'll  never 
know — just  what  those  words  mean  to  me.  They've 
saved  me — I  think." 

"Then,  dearest,  it's  all  right  ?"  Dick  questioned,  eagerly. 
"You  will  keep  your  promise  ?  You  will  marry  me  ?" 

The  glow,  the  light  faded  out  of  her  face,  and  now  the 
blue  eyes  were  almost  black.  She  drooped  and  shook  her 
head. 

"Nell!"  exclaimed  Gale,  sharply  catching  his  breath. 

"Don't  ask  me,  Dick.    I — I  won't  marry  you." 

"Why?" 

"You  know.     It's  true  that  I—-" 

"It's  a  lie,"  interrupted  Gale,  fiercely.  "But  even  if 
it's  true — why — why  won't  you  marry  me?  Between 
you  and  me  love  is  the  thing.  Love,  and  nothing  else! 
Don't  you  love  me  any  more?" 

306 


REALITY  AGAINST  DREAMS 

They  had  forgotten  Belding,  who  stepped  back  into 
the  shade. 

"I  love  you  with  my  whole  heart  and  soul.  I'd  die  for 
you,"  whispered  Nell,  with  clenching  hands.  "But  I 
won't  disgrace  you." 

"Dear,  you  have  worried  over  this  trouble  till  you're 
morbid.  It  has  grown  out  of  all  proportion.  I  tell  you 
that  I'll  not  only  be  the  happiest  man  on  earth,  but  the 
luckiest,  if  you  marry  me." 

"Dick,  you  give  not  one  thought  to  your  family.  Would 
they  receive  me  as  your  wife?" 

"They  surely  would,"  replied  Gale,  steadily. 

"No!  oh  no!" 

"You're  wrong,  Nell.  I'm  glad  you  said  that.  You 
give  me  a  chance  to  prove  something.  I'll  go  this  minute 
and  tell  them  all.  I'll  be  back  here  in  less  than — " 

"Dick,  you  will  not  tell  her — your  mother  ?"  cried  Nell, 
with  her  eyes  streaming.  "You  will  not?  Oh,  I  can't 
bear  it!  She's  so  proud!  And  Dick,  I  love  her. 
Don't  tell  her!  Please,  please  don't!  She'll  be  going 
soon.  She  needn't  ever  know — aboard  me  I  wan*  her 
always  to  think  well  of  me.  Dick,  I  beg  of  you.  OIs 
the  fear  of  her  knowing  has  been  the  worst  of  all !  Please 
don't  go!" 

"Nell,  I'm  sorry.  I  hate  to  hurt  you.  But  you'rt 
wrong.  You  can't  see  things  clearly.  This  is  your 
happiness  I'm  righting  for.  And  it's  my  life.  .  .  .  Wait 
here,  dear.  I  won't  be  long." 

Gale  ran  across  the  patio  and  disappeared.  Nell  sank 
to  the  doorstep,  and  as  she  met  the  question  in  Belding's 
eyes  she  shook  her  head  mournfully.  They  waited  with 
out  speaking.  It  seemed  a  long  while  before  Gale  re 
turned.  Belding  thrilled  at  sight  of  him.  There  was 
more  boy  about  him  than  Belding  had  ever  seen.  Dick 
was  coming  swiftly,  flushed,  glowing,  eager,  erect,  almost 
smiling. 

"I  told  them.    I  swore  it  was  a  lie,  but  I  wanted  them 

307 


DESERT  GOLD 

to  decide  as  if  it  were  true.  I  didn't  have  to  waste  a 
minute  on  Elsie.  She  loves  you,  Nell.  The  Governor 
is  crazy  about  you.  I  didn't  have  to  waste  two  minutes 
on  him.  Mother  used  up  the  time.  She  wanted  to 
know  all  there  was  to  tell.  She  is  proud,  yes ;  but,  Nell, 
I  wish  you  could  have  seen  how  she  took  the — the  story 
about  you.  Why,  she  never  thought  of  me  at  all,  until 
she  had  cried  over  you.  Nell,  she  loves  you,  too.  They 
all  love  you.  Oh,  it's  so  good  to  tell  you.  I  think 
mother  realizes  the  part  you  have  had  in  the — what  shall 
I  call  it? — the  regeneration  of  Richard  Gale.  Doesn't 
that  sound  fine?  Darling,  mother  not  only  consents, 
she  wants  you  to  be  my  wife.  Do  you  hear  that?  And 
listen — she  had  me  in  a  corner  and,  of  course,  being  my 
mother,  she  put  on  the  screws.  She  made  me  promise 
that  we'd  live  in  the  East  half  the  year.  That  means 
Chicago,  Cape  May,  New  York — you  see,  I'm  not  exactly 
the  lost  son  any  more.  Why,  Nell,  dear,  you'll  have  to 
learn  who  Dick  Gale  really  is.  But  I  always  want  to  be 
the  ranger  you  helped  me  become,  and  ride  Blanco  Sol, 
and  see  a  little  of  the  desert.  Don't  let  the  idea  of  big 
cities  frighten  you.  We'll  always  love  the  open  places 
best.  Now,  Nell,  say  you'll  forget  this  trouble.  I  know 
it'll  come  all  right.  Say  you'll  marry  me  soon.  .  .  ,  Why, 
dearest,  you're  crying.  .  .  Nell !" 

"My— heart— is  broken,"  sobbed  Nell,  "for— I— I  can't 
marry  you." 

The  boyish  brightness  faded  out  of  Gale's  face.  Here, 
Belding  saw,  was  the  stern  reality  arrayed  against  his 
dreams. 

"That  devil  Radford  Chase— he'll  tell  my  secret," 
panted  Nell.  "He  swore  if  you  ever  came  back  and  mar 
ried  me  he'd  follow  us  all  over  the  world  to  tell  it." 

Belding  saw  Gale  grow  deathly  white  and  suddenly 
stand  stock-still. 

"Chase  threatened  you,  then?"  asked  Dick;  and  the 
forced  naturalness  of  his  voice  struck  Belding. 

308 


REALITY  AGAINST  DREAMS 

'Threatened  me?  He  made  my  life  a  nightmare," 
replied  Nell,  in  a  rush  of  speech.  "At  first  I  wondered 
how  he  was  worrying  mother  sick.  But  she  wouldn't 
tell  me.  Then  when  she  went  away  he  began  to  hint 
things.  I  hated  him  all  the  more.  But  when  he  told 
me — I  was  frightened,  shamed.  Still  I  did  not  weaken. 
He  was  pretty  decent  when  he  was  sober.  But  when  he 
was  half  drunk  he  was  a  devil.  He  laughed  at  me  and 
my  pride.  I  didn't  dare  shut  the  door  in  his  face.  After 
a  while  he  found  out  that  your  mother  loved  me  and  that 
I  loved  her.  Then  he  began  to  threaten  me.  If  I  didn't 
give  in  to  him  he'd  see  she  learned  the  truth.  That  made 
me  weaken.  It  nearly  killed  me.  I  simply  could  not 
bear  the  thought  of  Mrs.  Gale  knowing.  But  I  couldn't 
marry  him.  Besides,  he  got  so  half  the  time,  when  he  was 
drunk,  he  didn't  want  or  ask  me  to  be  his  wife.  I  was 
about  ready  to  give  up  and  go  mad  when  you — you  came 
home." 

She  ended  in  a  whisper,  looking  up  wistfully  and  sadly 
at  him.  Belding  was  a  raging  fire  within,  cold  without. 
He  watched  Gale,  and  believed  he  could  foretell  that 
young  man's  future  conduct.  Gale  gathered  Nell  up 
into  his  arms  and  held  her  to  his  breast  for  a  long  moment. 

"Dear  Nell,  I'm  sure  the  worst  of  your  trouble  is  over," 
he  said,  gently.  "I  will  not  give  you  up.  Now,  won't 
you  lie  down,  try  to  rest  and  calm  yourself.  Don't  grieve 
any  more.  This  thing  isn't  so  bad  as  you  make  it.  Trust 
me.  I'll  shut  Mr.  Radford  Chase's  mouth." 

As  he  released  her  she  glanced  quickly  up  at  him,  then 
lifted  appealing  hands. 

"Dick,  you  won't  hunt  for  him — go  after  him?" 

Gale  laughed,  and  the  laugh  made  Belding  jump. 

"Dick,  I  beg  of  you.  Please  don't  make  trouble.  The 
Chases  have  been  hard  enough  on  us.  They  are  rich, 
powerful.  Dick,  say  you  will  not  make  masters  worse. 
Please  promise  me  you'll  not  go  to  him." 

"You  ask  me  that?"  he  demanded. 

309 


DESERT  GOLD 

"Yes.    Oh  yes  r 

"But  you  know  it's  useless.  What  kind  of  a  man  do 
you  want  me  to  be?" 

"It's  only  that  I'm  afraid.  Oh,  Dick,  he'd  shoot  you 
in  the  back." 

"No,  Nell,  a  man  of  his  kind  wouldn't  have  nerve 
tniough  even  for  that." 

"You'll  go?"  she  cried,  wildly. 

Gale  smiled,  and  the  smile  made  Belding  cold. 

"Dick,  I  cannot  keep  you  back?" 

"No,"  he  said. 

Then  the  woman  in  her  burst  through  instinctive  fear, 
and  with  her  eyes  blazing  black  in  her  white  face  she 
lifted  parted  quivering  lips  and  kissed  him. 

Gale  left  the  patio,  and  Belding  followed  closely  at  his 
heels.  They  went  through  the  sitting-room.  Outside 
upon  the  porch  sat  the  rangers,  Mr.  Gale,  and  Thorne. 
Dick  went  into  his  room  without  speaking. 

"Shore  somethin's  comin'  off,'*  said  Ladd,  sharply; 
and  he  sat  up  with  his  keen  eyes  narrowing. 

Belding  spoke  a  few  words;  and,  remembering  an  im 
pression  he  had  wished  to  make  upon  Mr.  Gale,  he  made 
them  strong.  But  now  it  was  with  a  grim  humor  that  he 
spoke. 

"Better  stop  that  boy,"  he  concluded,  looking  at  Mr. 
Gale.  "He'll  do  some  mischief.  He's  wilder'n  hell." 

"Stop  him?  Why,  assuredly,"  replied  Mr.  Gale,  rising 
with  nervous  haste. 

Just  then  Dick  came  out  of  his  door.  Belding  eyed  him 
keenly.  The  only  change  he  could  see  was  that  Dick  had 
put  on  a  hat  and  a  pair  of  heavy  gloves. 

"Richard,  where  are  you  going  ?"  asked  his  father. 

"I'm  going  over  here  to  see  a  man." 

"No.  It  is  my  wish  that  you  remain.  I  forbid  you  to 
go,"  said  Mr.  Gale,  with  a  hand  on  his  son's  shoulder. 

Dick  put  Mr.  Gale  aside  gently,  respectfully,  yet 
forcibly.  The  old  man  gasped. 

310 


REALITY  AGAINST  DREAMS 

"Dad,  I  haven't  gotten  over  my  bad  habit  of  disobey 
ing  you.  I'm  sorry.  Don't  interfere  with  me  now.  And 
don't  follow  me.  You  might  see  something  unpleasant." 

"But  my  son!    What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I'm  going  to  beat  a  dog." 

Mr.  Gale  looked  helplessly  from  this  strangely  calm 
and  cold  son  to  the  restless  Belding.  Then  Dick  strode 
off  the  porch. 

"Hold  on!"  Ladd's  voice  would  have  stopped  almost 
any  man.  "Dick,  you  wasn't  agoin'  without  me?" 

"Yes,  I  was.     But  I'm  thoughtless  just  now,  Laddy." 

"Shore  you  was.  Wait  a  minute,  Dick.  I'm  a  sick 
man,  but  at  that  nobody  can  pull  any  stunts  round  here 
without  me." 

He  hobbled  along  the  porch  and  went  into  his  room. 
Jim  Lash  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and,  hum 
ming  his  dance  tune,  he  followed  Ladd.  In  a  moment  the 
rangers  appeared,  and  both  were  packing  guns. 

Not  a  little  of  Belding's  grim  excitement  came  from 
observation  of  Mr.  Gale.  At  sight  of  the  rangers  with  their 
guns  the  old  man  turned  white  and  began  to  tremble. 

"Better  stay  behind,"  whispered  Belding.  "Dick's 
going  to  beat  that  two-legged  dog,  and  the  rangers  get 
excited  when  they're  packing  guns." 

"I  will  not  stay  behind,"  replied  Mr.  Gale,  stoutly. 
"I'll  see  this  affair  through.  Belding,  I've  guessed  it. 
Richard  is  going  to  fight  the  Chases,  those  robbers  who 
have  ruined  you." 

"Well,  I  can't  guarantee  any  fight  on  their  side,"  re 
turned  Belding  dryly.  "But  maybe  there'll  be  Greasers 
with  a  gun  or  two." 

Belding  stalked  off  to  catch  up  with  Dick,  and  Mr. 
Gale  came  trudging  behind  with  Thome. 

"Where  will  we  find  these  Chases?"  asked  Dick  of 
Belding. 

"They've  got  a  place  down  the  road  adjoining  the  inn. 
They  call  it  their  club.  At  this  hour  Radford  will  be  there 


DESERT  GOLD 

sure.    I  don't  know  about  the  old  man.    But  his  office 
is  now  just  across  the  way." 

They  passed  several  houses,  turned  a  corner  into  the 
main  street,  and  stopped  at  a  wide,  low  adobe  structure. 
A  number  of  saddled  horses  stood  haltered  to  posts. 
Mexicans  lolled  around  the  wide  doorway. 

"There's  Ben  Chase  now  over  on  the  corner,"  said 
Belding  to  Dick.  "See,  the  tall  man  with  the  white  hair, 
and  leather  band  on  his  hat.  He  sees  us.  He  knows 
there's  something  up.  He's  got  men  with  him.  They'll 
come  over.  We're  after  the  young  buck,  and  sure  he'll 
be  in  here." 

They  entered.  The  place  was  a  hall,  and  needed  only 
a  bar  to  make  it  a  saloon.  There  were  two  rickety  pool 
tables.  Evidently  Chase  had  fitted  up  this  amusement 
room  for  his  laborers  as  well  as  for  the  use  of  his  en 
gineers  and  assistants,  for  the  crowd  contained  both 
Mexicans  and  Americans.  A  large  table  near  a  window 
was  surrounded  by  a  noisy,  smoking,  drinking  circle  of 
card-players. 

"Point  out  this  Radford  Chase  to  me,"  said  Gale. 

"There!  The  big  fellow  with  the  red  face.  His  eyes 
stick  out  a  little.  See!  He's  dropped  his  cards  and  his 
face  Isn't  red  any  more." 

Dick  strode  across  the  room. 

Beldirig  grasped  Mr.  Gale  and  whispered  hoarsely: 
"Don't  miss  anything.  It'll  be  great.  Watch  Dick  and 
watch  Laddy!  If  there's  any  gun  play,  dodge  behind 
me." 

Belding  smiled  with  a  grim  pleasure  as  he  saw  Mr. 
Gale's  face  turn  white. 

Dick  halted  beside  the  table.  His  heavy  boot  shot  up, 
and  with  a  crash  the  table  split,  and  glasses,  cards,  chips 
flew  everywhere.  As  they  rattled  down  and  the  chairs 
of  the  dumfounded  players  began  to  slide  Dick  called 
out:  "My  name  is  Gale.  I'm  looking  for  Mr.  Radford 
Chase/' 

312 


REALITY  AGAINST  DREAMS 

A  tall,  heavy-shouldered  fellow  rose,  boldly  enough, 
even  swaggeringly,  and  glowered  at  Gale. 

"I'm  Radford  Chase,"  he  said.  His  voice  betrayed  the 
boldness  of  his  action. 

It  was  over  in  a  few  moments.  The  tables  and  chairs 
were  tumbled  into  a  heap ;  one  of  the  pool  tables  had  been 
shoved  aside ;  a  lamp  lay  shattered,  with  oil  running  dark 
npon  the  floor.  Ladd  leaned  against  a  post  with  a  smok 
ing  gun  in  his  hand.  A  Mexican  crouched  close  to  the 
wall  moaning  over  a  broken  arm.  In  the  far  corner  up 
held  by  comrades  another  wounded  Mexican  cried  out  in 
pain.  These  two  had  attempted  to  draw  weapons  upon 
Gale,  and  Ladd  had  crippled  them. 

In  the  center  of  the  room  lay  Radford  Chase,  a  limp, 
torn,  hulking,  bloody  figure.  He  was  not  seriously  in 
jured.  But  he  was  helpless,  a  miserable  beaten  wretch, 
who  knew  his  condition  and  felt  the  eyes  upon  him. 
He  sobbed  and  moaned  and  howled.  But  no  one  offered 
to  help  him  to  his  feet. 

Backed  against  the  door  of  the  hall  stood  Ben  Chase, 
for  once  stripped  of  all  authority  and  confidence  and 
courage.  Gale  confronted  him,  and  now  Gale's  mien 
was  in  striking  contrast  to  the  coolness  with  which  he  had 
entered  the  place.  Though  sweat  dripped  from  his  face, 
it  was  white  as  chalk.  Like  dark  flames  his  eyes 
seemed  to  leap  and  dance  and  burn.  His  lean  jaw  hung 
down  and  quivered  with  passion.  He  shook  a  huge 
gloved  fist  in  Chase's  face. 

"Your  gray  hairs  save  you  this  time.  But  keep  out 
of  my  way!  And  when  that  son  of  yours  comes  to, 
tell  him  every  time  I  meet  him  I'll  add  some  more  to 
what  he  got  to-day  I'1 


XIX 

THE  SECRET  OF  FORLORN"  RIVER 

IN  the  early  morning  Gale,  seeking  solitude  where  he 
could  brood  over  his  trouble,  wandered  alone.  It  was 
not  easy  for  him  to  elude  the  Yaqui,  and  just  at  the 
moment  when  he  had  cast  himself  down  in  a  secluded 
shady  corner  the  Indian  appeared,  noiseless,  shadowy, 
mysterious  as  always. 

"Malo"  he  said,  in  his  deep  voice. 

"Yes,  Yaqui,  it's  bad — very  bad,"  replied  Gale. 

The  Indian  had  been  told  of  the  losses  sustained  by 
Belding  and  his  rangers. 

"Go — me!"  said  Yaqui,  with  an  impressive  gesture 
toward  the  lofty  Jilap-cclored  ste^s  of  No  Name  Moun 
tains. 

He  seemed  the  same  as  usual,  but  a  glance  on  Gale's 
part,  a  moment's  attention,  made  him  conscious  of  the 
old  strange  force  in  the  Yaqui. 

"Why  does  my  brother  want  me  to  climb  the  nameless 
mountains  with  him? '  asked  Gale. 

"Lluvia  d'oro"  replied  Yaqui,  and  he  made  motions 
that  Gale  found  difficult  of  interpretation. 

"Shower  of  Gold,"  translated  Gale.  That  was  the 
Yaqui's  name  for  Nell.  What  did  he  mean  by  using  it  in. 
connection  with  a  climb  into  the  mountains?  Were  his 
motions  intended  to  convey  an  idea  of  a  shower  of  golden 
blossoms  from  that  rare  and  beautiful  tree,  or  a  golden 
rain?  Gale's  listlessness  vanished  in  a  flash  of  thought. 
The  Yaqui  meant  gold.  Gold!  He  meant  he  could 
retrieve  the  fallen  fortunes  of  the  white  brother  who  had 

314 


SECRET  OF  FORLORN  RIVER 

saved  his  life  that  evil  day  at  the  Papago  Well.  Gale 
thrilled  as  he  gazed  piercingly  into  the  wonderful  eyes  of 
this  Indian.  Would  Yaqui  never  consider  his  debt 
paid? 

"Go — me?"  repeated  the  Indian,  pointing  with  the 
singular  directness  that  always  made  this  action  remark 
able  in  him. 

"Yes,  Yaqui." 

Gale  ran  to  his  room,  put  on  hobnailed  boots,  filled  a 
canteen,  and  hurried  back  to  the  corral.  Yaqui  awaited 
him.  The  Indian  carried  a  coiled  lasso  and  a  short  stout 
stick.  Without  a  word  he  led  the  way  down  the  lane, 
turned  up  the  river  toward  the  mountains.  None  of 
Belding's  household  saw  their  departure. 

What  had  once  been  only  a  narrow  mesquite-bordered 
trail  was  now  a  well-trodden  road.  A  deep  irrigation 
ditch,  full  of  flowing  muddy  water,  ran  parallel  with  the 
road.  Gale  had  been  curious  about  the  operations  of  tho 
Chases,  but  a  bitterness  he  could  not  help  had  kept  him 
•from  going  out  to  see  the  work.  He  was  not  surprised 
to  find  that  the  engineers  who  had  constructed  the  ditches 
and  dam  had  anticipated  him  in  every  particular.  The 
dammed-up  gulch  made  a  magnificent  reservoir,  and  Gale 
could  not  look  upon  the  long  narrow  lake  without  a  feeling 
of  gladness.  The  dreaded  ano  seco  of  the  Mexicans  might 
come  again  and  would  come,  but  never  to  the  inhabitants 
of  Forlorn  River.  That  stone-walled,  stone-floored  gulch 
would  never  leak,  and  already  it  contained  water  enough 
to  irrigate  the  whole  of  Altar  Valley  for  two  dry  seasons. 
Yaqui  led  swiftly  along  the  lake  to  the  upper  end,  where 
the  stream  roared  down  over  unscalable  walls.  This 
point  was  the  farthest  Gale  had  ever  penetrated  into  the 
rough  foothills,  and  he  had  Belding's  word  for  it  that  no 
white  man  had  ever  climbed  No  Name  Mountains  from 
the  west. 

But  a  white  man  was  not  an  Indian.  The  former  might 
have  stolen  the  range  and  valley  and  mountain,  even  the 

315 


DESERT  GOLD 

desert,  but  his  possessions  would  ever  remain  mysteries. 
Gale  had  scarcely  faced  the  great  gray  ponderous  wall  of 
cliff  before  the  old  strange  interest  in  the  Yaqui  seized 
him  again.  It  recalled  the  tie  that  existed  between  them, 
a  tie  almost  as  close  as  blood.  Then  he  was  eager  and 
curious  to  see  how  the  Indian  would  conquer  those 
seemingly  insurmountable  steps  of  stone. 

Yaqui  left  the  gulch  and  clambered  up  over  a  jumble  of 
weathered  slides  and  traced  a  slow  course  along  the  base 
of  the  giant  wall.  He  looked  up  and  seemed  to  select 
a  point  for  ascent.  It  was  the  last  place  in  that  mountain 
side  where  Gale  would  have  thought  climbing  possible. 
Before  him  the  wall  rose,  leaning  over  him,  shutting  out 
the  light,  a  dark  mighty  mountain  mass.  Innumerable 
cracks  and  crevices  and  caves  roughened  the  bulging  sides 
of  dark  rock. 

Yaqui  tied  one  end  of  his  lasso  to  the  short,  stout  stick 
and,  carefully  disentangling  the  coils,  he  whirled  the  stick 
round  and  round  and  threw  it  almost  over  the  first  rim 
of  the  shelf,  perhaps  thirty  feet  up.  Thie  stick  did  not 
lodge.  Yaqui  tried  again.  This  time  it  caught  in  a 
crack.  He  pulled  hard.  Then,  holding  to  the  lasso,  he 
walked  up  the  steep  slant,  hand  over  hand  on  the  rope. 
When  he  reached  the  shelf  he  motioned  for  Gale  to  follow. 
Gale  found  that  method  of  scaling  a  wall  both  quick  and 
easy.  Yaqui  pulled  up  the  lasso,  and  threw  the  stick 
aloft  into  another  crack.  He  climbed  to  another  shelf, 
and  Gale  followed  him.  The  third  effort  brought  them  to 
a  more  rugged  bench  a  hundred  feet  above  the  slides. 
The  Yaqui  worked  round  to  the  left,  and  turned  into  a 
dark  fissure.  Gale  kept  close  at  his  heels.  They  came 
out  presently  into  lighter  space,  yet  one  that  restricted 
any  extended  view.  Broken  sections  of  cliff  were  on  all 
sides. 

Here  the  ascent  became  toil.  Gale  could  distance 
Yaqui  going  downhill ;  on  the  climb,  however,  he  was  hard 
put  to  it  to  keep  the  Indian  in  sight.  It  was  not  a  ques- 

316 


SECRET  OF  FORLORN  RIVER 

tion  of  strength  or  lightness  of  foot.  These  Gale  had 
beyond  the  share  of  most  men.  It  was  a  matter  of  lung 
power,  and  the  Yaqui's  life  had  been  spent  scaling  the 
desert  heights.  Moreover,  the  climbing  was  infinitely 
slow,  tedious,  dangerous.  On  the  way  up  several  times 
Gale  imagined  he  heard  a  dull  roar  of  falling  water.  The 
sound  seemed  to  be  under  him,  over  him,  to  this  side  and 
to  that.  When  he  was  certain  he  could  locate  the  direc 
tion  from  which  it  came  then  he  heard  it  no  more  until  he 
had  gone  on.  Gradually  he  forgot  it  in  the  physical  sensa 
tions  of  the  climb.  He  burned  his  hands  and  knees.  He 
grew  hot  and  wet  and  winded.  His  heart  thumped  so 
that  it  hurt,  and  there  were  instants  when  his  sight  was 
blurred.  When  at  last  he  had  toiled  to  where  the  Yaqui 
sat  awaiting  him  upon  the  rim  of  that  great  wall,  it  was 
none  too  soon. 

Gale  lay  back  and  rested  for  a  while  without  note  of 
anything  except  the  blue  sky.  Then  he  sat  up.  He  was 
amazed  to  find  that  after  that  wonderful  climb  he  was  only 
a  thousand  feet  or  so  above  the  valley.  Judged  by  the 
nature  of  his  effort,  he  would  have  said  he  had  climbed  a 
mile.  The  village  lay  beneath  him,  with  its  new  adobe 
structures  and  tents  and  buildings  in  bright  contrast 
with  the  older  habitations.  He  saw  the  green  alfalfa 
fields,  and  Belding's  white  horses,  looking  very  small  and 
motionless.  He  pleased  himself  by  imagining  he  could 
pick  out  Blanco  Sol.  Then  his  gaze  swept  on  to  the 
river. 

Indeed,  he  realized  now  why  some  one  had  named  it 
Forlorn  River.  Even  at  this  season  when  it  was  full  of 
water  it  had  a  forlorn  aspect.  It  was  doomed  to  fail  out 
there  on  the  desert — doomed  never  to  mingle  with  the 
waters  of  the  Gulf.  It  wound  away  down  the  valley, 
growing  wider  and  shallower,  encroaching  more  and  more 
on  the  gray  flats,  until  it  disappeared  on  its  sad  journey 
toward  Sonoyta.  That  vast  shimmering,  sun-governed 
waste  recognized  its  life  only  at  this  flood  season,  and  was 

317 


DESERT  GOLD 

already  with  parched  tongue  and  insatiate  fire  licking  and 
burning  up  its  futile  waters. 

Yaqui  put  a  hand  on  Gale's  knee.  It  was  a  bronzed, 
scarred,  powerful  hand,  always  eloquent  of  meaning. 
The  Indian  was  listening.  His  bent  head,  his  strange 
dilating  eyes,  his  rigid  form,  and  that  close-pressing  hand, 
how  these  brought  back  to  Gale  the  terrible  lonely  night 
hours  on  the  lava ! 

"What  do  you  hear,  Yaqui  ?"  asked  Gale.  He  laughed 
a  little  at  the  mood  that  had  come  over  him.  But  the 
sound  of  his  voice  did  not  break  the  spell.  He  did  not 
want  to  speak  again.  He  yielded  to  Yaqui's  subtle  name 
less  influence.  He  listened  himself,  heard  nothing  but  the 
scream  of  an  eagle.  Often  he  wondered  if  the  Indian 
could  hear  things  that  made  no  sound.  Yaqui  was  beyond 
understanding. 

Whatever  the  Indian  had  listened  to  or  for,  presently 
he  satisfied  himself,  and,  with  a  grunt  that  might  mean 
anything,  he  rose  and  turned  away  from  the  rim.  Gale 
followed,  rested  now  and  eager  to  go  on.  He  saw  that 
the  great  cliff  they  had  climbed  was  only  a  stairway  up  to 
the  huge  looming  dark  bulk  of  the  plateau  above. 

Suddenly  he  again  heard  the  dull  roar  of  falling  water. 
It  seemed  to  have  cleared  itself  of  muffled  vibrations. 
Yaqui  mounted  a  little  ridge  and  halted.  The  next  in 
stant  Gale  stood  above  a  bottomless  cleft  into  which  a 
white  stream  leaped.  His  astounded  gaze  swept  back 
ward  along  this  narrow  swift  stream  to  its  end  in  a  dark, 
round,  boiling  pool.  It  was  a  huge  spring,  a  bubbling 
well,  the  outcropping  of  an  underground  river  coming 
down  from  the  vast  plateau  above. 

Yaqui  had  brought  Gale  to  the  source  of  Forlorn  River. 

Flashing  thoughts  in  Gale's  mind  were  no  swifter  than 
the  thrills  that  ran  over  him.  He  would  stake  out  a  claim 
here  and  never  be  cheated  out  of  it.  Ditches  on  the 
benches  and  troughs  on  the  steep  walls,  would  carry  water 
dnwn  to  the  valley.  Ben  Chase  had  built  a  great  dam 

318 


SECRET  OF  FORLORN  RIVER 

which  would  be  useless  if  Gale  chose  to  turn  Forlorn 
River  from  its  natural  course.  The  fountain  head  of  that 
mysterious  desert  river  belonged  to  him. 

His  eagerness,  his  mounting  passion,  was  checked  by 
Yaqui's  unusual  action.  The  Indian  showed  wonder, 
hesitation,  even  reluctance.  His  strange  eyes  surveyed 
this  boiling  well  as  if  they  could  not  believe  the  sight  they 
saw.  Gale  divined  instantly  that  Yaqui  had  never  before 
seen  the  source  of  Forlorn  River.  If  he  had  ever  ascended 
to  this  plateau,  probably  it  had  been  to  some  other  part, 
for  the  water  was  new  to  him.  He  stood  gazing  aloft  at 
peaks,  at  lower  ramparts  of  the  mountain,  and  at  nearer 
landmarks  of  prominence.  Yaqui  seemed  at  fault.  He 
was  not  sure  of  his  location. 

Then  he  strode  past  the  swirling  pool  of  dark  water  and 
began  to  ascend  a  little  slope  that  led  up  to  a  shelving 
cliff.  Another  object  halted  the  Indian.  It  was  a  pile 
of  stones,  weathered,  crumbled,  fallen  into  ruin,  but  still 
retaining  shape  enough  to  prove  it  had  been  built  there 
by  the  hands  of  men.  Round  and  round  this  the  Yaqui 
Stalked,  and  his  curiosity  attested  a  further  uncertainty. 
It  was  as  if  he  had  come  upon  something  surprising. 
Gale  wondered  about  the  pile  of  stones.  Had  it  once 
been  a  prospector's  claim? 

"Ugh !"  grunted  the  Indian ;  and,  though  his  exclama 
tion  expressed  no  satisfaction,  it  surely  put  an  end  to 
doubt.  He  pointed  up  to  the  roof  of  the  sloping  yellow 
shelf  of  stone.  Faintly  outlined  there  in  red  were  the  im 
prints  of  many  human  hands  with  fingers  spread  wide. 
Gale  had  often  seen  such  paintings  on  the  walls  of  the 
desert  caverns.  Manifestly  these  told  Yaqui  he  had  come 
to  the  spot  for  which  he  had  aimed. 

Then  his  actions  became  swift — and  Yaqui  seldom 
moved  swiftly.  The  fact  impressed  Gale.  The  Indian 
searched  the  level  floor  under  the  shelf.  He  gathered  up 
handf  uls  of  small  black  stones,  and  he  thrust  them  at  Gale. 
Their  weight  made  Gale  start,  and  then  he  trembled.  The 

319 


"DESERT  GOLD 

Indian's  next  move  was  to  pick  up  a  piece  of  weathered 
rock  and  throw  it  against  the  wall.  It  broke.  He 
snatched  up  parts,  and  showed  the  broken  edges  to  Gale. 
They  contained  yellow  streaks,  dull  glints,  faint  tracings 
of  green.  It  was  gold. 

Gale  found  his  legs  shaking  under  him;  and  he  sat 
down,  trying  to  take  all  the  bits  of  stone  into  his  lap.  His 
fingers  were  all  thumbs  as  with  knife  blade  he  dug  into  the 
black  pieces  of  rock.  He  found  gold.  Then  he  stared 
down  the  slope,  down  into  the  valley  with  its  river  wind 
ing  forlornly  away  into  the  desert.  But  he  did  not  see  any 
of  that.  Here  was  reality  as  sweet,  as  wonderful,  as 
saving  as  a  dream  come  true.  Yaqui  had  led  him  to  a 
ledge  of  gold.  Gale  had  learned  enough  about  mineral 
to  know  that  this  was  a  rich  strike.  All  in  a  second  he  was 
speechless  with  the  joy  of  it.  But  his  mind  whirled  in 
thought  about  this  strange  and  noble  Indian,  who  seemed 
never  to  be  able  to  pay  a  debt.  Belding  and  the  poverty 
that  had  come  to  him !  Nell,  who  had  wept  over  the  loss 
of  a  spring!  Laddy,  who  never  could  ride  again!  Jinl 
Lash,  who  swore  he  would  always  look  after  his  friend  fr 
Thorne  and  Mercedes !  All  these  people,  who  had  been 
good  to  him  and  whom  he  loved,  were  poor.  But  now 
they  would  be  rich.  They  would  one  and  all  be  his  part 
ners.  He  had  discovered  the  source  of  Forlorn  River, 
and  was  rich  in  water.  Yaqui  had  made  him  rich  in  gold. 
Gale  wanted  to  rush  down  the  slope,  down  into  the  valley, 
and  tell  his  wonderful  news. 

Suddenly  his  eyes  cleared  and  he  saw  the  pile  of  stones. 
His  blood  turned  to  ice,  then  to  fire.  That  was  the  mark 
of  a  prospector's  claim.  But  it  was  old,  very  old.  The 
ledge  had  never  been  worked.  The  slope  was  wild.  There 
was  not  another  single  indication  that  a  prospector  had 
ever  been  there.  Where,  then,  was  he  who  had  firsf 
staked  this  claim?  Gale  wondered  with  growing  hope, 
with  the  fire  easing,  with  the  cold  passing. 

The  Yaqui  uttered  the  low,  strange,  involuntary  cry  so 
320 


SECRET  OF  FORLORN  RIVER 

rare  with  him,  a  cry  somehow  always  associated  with 
death.  Gale  shuddered. 

The  Indian  was  digging  in  the  sand  and  dust  under 
the  shelving  wall.  He  threw  out  an  object  that  rang 
against  the  stone.  It  was  a  belt  buckle.  He  threw  out 
old  shrunken,  withered  boots.  He  came  upon  other 
things,  and  then  he  ceased  to  dig. 

The  grave  of  desert  prospectors !  Gale  had  seen  more 
than  one.  Ladd  had  told  him  many  a  story  of  such 
gruesome  finds.  It  was  grim,  hard  fact. 

Then  the  keen-eyed  Yaqui  reached  up  to  a  little  pro 
jecting  shelf  of  rock  and  took  from  it  a  small  object. 
He  showed  no  curiosity  and  gave  the  thing  to  Gale. 

How  strangely  Gale  felt  when  he  received  into  his 
hands  a  flat  oblong  box!  Was  it  only  the  influence  of 
the  Yaqui,  or  was  there  a  nameless  and  unseen  presence 
beside  that  grave?  Gale  could  not  be  sure.  But  he 
knew  he  had  gone  back  to  the  old  desert  mood.  He  knew 
something  hung  in  the  balance.  No  accident,  no  luck, 
no  debt-paying  Indian  could  account  wholly  for  that 
moment.  Gale  knew  he  held  in  his  hands  more  than 
gold. 

The  box  was  a  tin  one,  and  not  at  all  rusty.  Gale 
pried  open  the  reluctant  lid.  A  faint  old  musty  odor 
penetrated  his  nostrils.  Inside  the  box  lay  a  packet 
wrapped  in  what  once  might  have  been  oilskin.  He  took 
it  out  and  removed  this  covering.  A  folded  paper  re 
mained  in  his  hands. 

It  was  growing  yellow  with  age.  But  he  described  a 
dim  tracery  of  words.  A  crabbed  scrawl,  written  in 
blood,  hard  to  read !  He  held  it  more  to  the  light,  and 
slowly  he  deciphered  its  content. 

"We,  Robert  Burton  and  Jonas  Warren,  give 
half  of  this  gold  claim  to  the  man  who  finds 
it  and  half  to  Nell  Burton,  daughter  and 
granddaughter" 

321 


DESERT  GOLD 

Gasping,  with  a  bursting  heart,  overwhelmed  by  an 
unutterable  joy  of  divination,  Gale  fumbled  with  the 
paper  until  he  got  it  open. 

It  was  a  certificate  twenty-one  years  old,  and  recorded 
the  marriage  of  Robert  Burton  and  Nellie  Warren. 


XX 

DESERT  GOLD 

A  SUMMER  day  dawned  on  Forlorn  River,  a  beau 
tiful,  still,  hot,  golden  day  with  huge  sail  clouds  of 
white  motionless  over  No  Name  Peaks  and  the  purple  of 
clear  air  in  the  distance  along  the  desert  horizon. 

Mrs.  Belding  returned  that  day  to  find  her  daughter 
happy  and  the  past  buried  forever  in  two  lonely  graves. 
The  haunting  shadow  left  her  eyes.  Gale  believed  he 
would  never  forget  the  sweetness,  the  wonder,  the  pas 
sion  of  her  embrace  when  she  called  him  her  boy  and 
gave  him  her  blessing. 

The  little  wrinkled  padre  who  married  Gale  and  Nell 
performed  the  ceremony  as  he  told  his  beads,  without 
interest  or  penetration,  and  went  his  way,  leaving  happi 
ness  behind. 

"Shore  I  was  a  sick  man,"  Ladd  said,  "an*  darn  near  a 
dead  one,  but  I'm  agoin'  to  get  well.  Mebbe  I'll  be  able 
to  ride  again  some  day.  Nell,  I  lay  it  to  you.  An'  I'm 
agoin'  to  kiss  you  an'  wish  you  all  the  joy  there  is  in  this 
world.  An'  Dick,  as  Yaqui  says,  she's  shore  your  Shower 
of  Gold." 

He  spoke  of  Gale's  finding  love — spoke  of  it  with  the 
deep  and  wistful  feeling  of  the  lonely  ranger  who  had 
always  yearned  for  love  and  had  never  known  it.  Beld 
ing,  once  more  practical,  and  important  as  never  before 
with  mining  projects  and  water  claims  to  manage,  spoke 
of  Gale's  great  good  fortune  in  the  finding  of  gold — he 
called  it  desert  gold. 

"Ah,  yes.  Desert  Gold!"  exclaimed  Dick's  father, 
323 


DESERT  GOLD 

feoftly,  with  eyes  of  pride.  Perhaps  he  was  glad  Dick 
had  found  the  rich  claim ;  surely  he  was  happy  that  Dick 
had  won  the  girl  he  loved.  But  it  seemed  to  Dick  himself 
that  his  father  meant  something  very  different  from  love 
and  fortune  in  his  allusion  to  desert  gold. 

That  beautiful  happy  day,  like  life  or  love  itself,  could 
not  be  wholly  perfect. 

Yaqui  came  to  Dick  to  say  good-by.  Dick  was  startled, 
grieved,  and  in  his  impulsiveness  forgot  for  a  moment  the 
nature  of  the  Indian.  Yaqui  was  not  to  be  changed. 

Belding  tried  to  overload  him  with  gifts.  The  Indian 
packed  a  bag  of  food,  a  blanket,  a  gun,  a  knife,  a  canteen, 
and  no  more.  The  whole  household  went  out  with  him 
to  the  corrals  and  fields  from  which  Belding  bade  him 
choose  a  horse — any  horse,  even  the  loved  Blanco  Diablo. 
Gale's  heart  was  in  his  throat  for  fear  the  Indian  might 
choose  Blanco  Sol,  and  Gale  hated  himself  for  a  selfish 
ness  he  could  not  help.  But  without  a  word  he  would 
have  parted  with  the  treasured  Sol. 

Yaqui  whistled  the  horses  up — for  the  last  time.  Did 
he  care  for  them?  It  would  have  been  hard  to  say.  He 
never  looked  at  the  fierce  and  haughty  Diablo,  nor  at 
Blanco  Sol  as  he  raised  his  noble  head  and  rang  his  pier 
cing  blast.  The  Indian  did  not  choose  one  of  Belding's 
whites.  He  caught  a  lean  and  wiry  broncho,  strapped  a 
blanket  on  him,  and  fastened  on  the  pack. 

Then  he  turned  to  these  friends,  the  same  emotionless, 
inscrutable  dark  and  silent  Indian  that  he  had  always 
been.  This  parting  was  nothing  to  him.  He  had  stayed 
to  pay  a  debt,  and  now  he  was  going  home. 

He  shook  hands  with  the  men,  swept  a  dark  fleeting 
glance  over  Nell,  and  rested  his  strange  eyes  upon  Mer 
cedes's  beautiful  and  agitated  face.  It  must  have  been 
a  moment  of  intense  feeling  for  the  Spanish  girl.  She 
owed  it  to  him  that  she  had  life  and  love  and  happiness. 
She  held  out  those  speaking  slender  hands.  But  Yaqui 

324 


DESERT  GOLD 

did  not  touch  them.  Turning  away,  he  mounted  the 
broncho  and  rode  down  the  trail  toward  the  river. 

"He's  going  home/'  said  Belding. 

"Homel"  whispered  Ladd;  and  Dick  knew  the  ranger 
had  felt  the  resurging  tide  of  memory.  Home — across 
the  cactus  and  lava,  through  solemn  lonely  days,  the 
silent,  lonely  nights,  into  the  vast  and  red-hazed  world 
of  desolation. 

"Thome,  Mercedes,  Nell,  let's  climb  the  foothill  yonder 
arid  watch  him  out  of  sight,"  said  Dick. 

They  climbed  while  the  others  returned  to  the  house. 
When  they  reached  the  summit  of  the  hill  Yaqui  was 
riding  up  the  far  bank  of  the  river. 

"He  will  turn  to  look — to  wave  good-by?"  asked  Nell. 

"Dear,  he  is  an  Indian,"  replied  Gale. 

From  that  height  they  watched  him  ride  through  the 
mesquites,  up  over  the  river  bank  to  enter  the  cactus. 
His  mount  showed  dark  against  the  green  and  white,  and 
for  a  long  time  he  was  plainly  in  sight.  The  sun  hung  red 
in  a  golden  sky.  The  last  the  watchers  saw  of  Yaqui  was 
•when  he  rode  across  a  ridge  and  stood  silhouetted  against 
the  gold  of  desert  sky — a  wild,  lonely,  beautiful  picture. 
Then  he  was  gone. 

Strangely  it  came  to  Gale  then  that  he  was  glad.  Yaqui 
had  returned  to  his  own — the  great  spaces,  the  desolation, 
the  solitude — to  the  trails  he  had  trodden  when  a  child, 
trails  haunted  now  by  ghosts  of  his  people,  and  ever  by 
his  gods.  Gale  realized  that  in  the  Yaqui  he  had  known 
the  spirit  of  the  desert,  that  this  spirit  had  claimed  all 
which  was  wild  and  primitive  in  him. 

Tears  glistened  in  Mercedes's  magnificent  black  eyes, 
and  Thorne  kissed  them  away — kissed  the  fire  back  to 
them  and  the  flame  to  her  cheeks. 

That  action  recalled  Gale's  earlier  mood,  the  joy  of 
the  present,  and  he  turned  to  Nell's  sweet  face.  The 
desert  was  there,  wonderful,  constructive,  ennobttng. 
beautiful,  terrible,  bnt  it  was  not  for  him  as  it  was  for 

325 


DESERT  GOLD 

the  Indian.  In  the  light  of  Nell's  tremulous  returning 
smile  that  strange,  deep,  clutching  shadow  faded,  lost 
its  hold  forever;  and  he  leaned  close  to  her,  whispering: 
"Lluvia  d'oro"— -"Shower  of  Gold," 


SHE  END 


Zane  Grey's  Thrilling  Novels 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.  Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 

Zane  Grey  has  lived  the  rugged  life  he  writes  about  in  his 
books.  The  wild  fierce  blood  of  Indian  chiefs  flows  in  his 
veins.  All  his  stories  are  splendidly  American,  thrilling,  ro 
mantic,  packed  with  action  and  color. 


Lost  Wagon  Train 
The  Trail  Driver 
Code  of  the  West 
Robber's  Roost 
Drift  Fence 
Arizona  Ames 
Sunset  Pass 

The  Shepherd  of 
Guadaloupe 

Fighting  Caravans 
Wild  Horse  Mesa 
Nevada 
Forlorn  River 
Under  the  Tonto  Rim 
The  Vanishing  American 
The  Thundering  Herd 

Wanderer  of  the 
Wasteland 


Thunder  Mountain 
The  Call  of  the  Canyon 
The  Hash  Knife  Outfit 
To  the  Last  Man 
The  Mysterious  Rider 
The  Man  of  the  Forest 
The  U-P  Trail 
Wildfire 

The  Border  Legion 
The  Rainbow  Trail 
The  Heritage  of  the  Desert 
Riders  of  the  Purple  Sage 
Light  of  Western  Stars 
The  Lone  Star  Ranger 
Desert  Gold 
Betty  Zane 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 


Publishers 


NEW  YORK 


Charles  Alden  Seltzer's 
Novels  of  the  West 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.  Ask  for  Grosser  &  Dunkp's  list. 

Seltzer  himself  used  to  punch  cows  and  ride  the  ranges  with  just 
such  chaps  as  he  writes  about  in  the  stories.  That's  why  his  cowboy 
yarns  are  real,  full  of  lightning  action,  reckless  courage  and  romance. 

SILVER  SPURS 
WEST  OF  APACHE  PASS 
CLEAR  THE  TRAIL 
DOUBLE  CROSS  RANCH 
LONESOME  RANCH 
THE  LAND  OF  THE  FREE 
THE  BOSS  OF  LAZY  Y 
LAST  HOPE  RANCH 
SQUARE  DEAL  SANDERSON 
THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  STARS 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP  Publishers  NEW  YORK 


B.  M.  Bower's 

THRILLING  STORIES  of  the  WESTERN  PLAINS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.  Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 

Breath-taking  stories  of  quick  action  and  adventure  on  the 
open  range.  B.  M.  Bower  knows  the  West  of  yesterday  and 
today  —  its  bla2ing  feuds  and  ruthless  laws  of  survival. 
These  yarns  are  packed  with  the  kind  of  romance  and  action 
you've  been  looking  for. 

FIVE  FURIES  OF  LEANING  LADDER 

DRY  RIDGE  GANG 

TROUBLE  RIDES  THE  WIND 

HAUNTED  HILLS 

FLYING-U  STRIKES 

THE  WHOOP-UP  TRAIL 

OPEN  LAND 

CHIP  OF  THE  FLYING-U 

FLYING-U  RANCH 

FLYING-U'S  LAST  STAND 

THE  LONESOME  TRAIL 

THE  RANGE  DWELLERS 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP  Publishers  NEW  YORK 


DISTINGUISHED 
NOVELS 

By  Famous  Authors  of  Fiction 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.  Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 


HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON 

Ramona 

MAZO  DE  LA  ROCHE 

Jalna 

ALICE  HEGAN  RICE 
Sandy 
A  Romance  of  Billy-Goat  Hill 

JOSEPHINE  LAWRENCE 
Years  Are  So  Long 

MARK  TWAIN 

The  Prince  and  the  Pauper 
Adventures  of  Tom  Sawyer 
Innocents  Abroad 

JOHN  FOX,  JR. 

Little  Shepherd  of  Kingdom  Come 
Trail  of  the  Lonesome  Pine 

ELIZABETH  M.  ROBERTS 

The  Great  Meadow 

DOROTHY  CANFIELD 

Basque  People 

The  Deepening  Stream 

Understood  Betsy 


EDNA  FERBER 
Come  and  Get  It 
American  Beauty 
Show  Boat 
So  Big 
Cimarron 

EMERSON  HOUGH 
The  Covered  Wagon 
North  of  36 
54-40  or  Fight 

JACK  LONDON 
The  Call  of  the  Wild 
The  Sea  Wolf 
The  White  Fang 
Jerry  of  the  Islands 
Michael,  Brother  of  Jerry 

EUGENE  CUNNINGHAM 

Quick  Triggers 

Trail  of  the  Macaw 

Buckaroo 

Riders  of  the  Night 

Texas  Sheriff 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 


Publishers 


NEW  YORK 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewedbooks  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


MOV  2  91996 


Ml 


SEP  T67'l 

LD  21A-50m-3,'62 
(C7097slO)476B 

UOAJfci  DERT. 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


CDSbDbfiDbfi 


